Lil' Sammy
by SciFiNutTX
Summary: Sam takes a nasty knock on the head, resulting in strange amnesia. He thinks he's five years old. Now Dean has to deal with his big lil' brother and all the trials and tribulations that entails. Ch22 Up. COMPLETE
1. Chapter 1

Okay _**hotshow**_, here it is! _**Hotshow **_and I are working on this storyline together, and it's really coming along. Hope you all enjoy it!!

**Lil' Sammy**

Where the hell was Sam? Dean paced the motel room, worry creeping cold fingers into his stomach. He replayed the argument they had over in his head as he tried to calculate how long it should take to walk a couple of blocks for fast food.

"Damn it, Dean! You dislocated your shoulder. We're taking the rest of the week off." Sam pointed an accusing finger at him.

"Sammy, Ellen called. There's something killing people there. We have to go. If you wanted a break, we should have taken that trip to the Grand Canyon when I suggested it." He glared at Sam. If Sam refused to take time off when he suggested, he would be damned, damned mind you, to take Sam up on it when it was his brother's idea. What – when it was his idea it wasn't good enough?

"We're not going, Dean!" Sam shouted, stomping his foot for emphasis.

"I'm packing, Sam," Dean replied. "If we hit the road now, we can be there by dawn, maybe prevent someone else from being killed."

Sam flapped his arms around, face turning red as Dean packed. Eventually he stopped, facing Dean. "We haven't even eaten."

"We can eat on the road," Dean replied. "There's a drive-thru a couple of blocks from here."

Sam's huff was loud and clear in the small motel room. "Fine! I'll go get it, I need some air anyway." The door slammed behind him.

Dean had considered going after his little brother, but he figured Sam needed some time to cool off. He had hoped Sam would come back in a slightly better mood. Okay, so it was probably just wishful thinking, Sam wasn't like that, but he could always hope.

He decided Sam should have been back by now, even factoring in total morons working at the fast food joint. Dean hit the call button on his cell. He listened as Sam's phone rang, rang, rang over to voicemail. His worry was turning into anger. He called again and again. Finally, on the fifth call, it was answered.

"Hello?" It was not Sam who answered, and Dean's gut clenched.

"Who the hell is this? Where's Sam?" he demanded of the stranger's voice.

"Tall kid? Brown hair?" the voice asked.

"Yes. Where is he?" he demanded again, grabbing his gun and tucking it into his waistband.

"On the way to County General Hospital," the voice replied. "I'm a paramedic in the ambulance transporting him."

Dean's heart lodged in his throat. He had to force his next words out. "What happened?"

"Looked like a hit and run. He's unconscious, but his vitals are stable." There was a pause. "You should probably get down there. We couldn't find any ID or insurance information on him."

"Right," Dean nodded to the air, "I'm on my way."

----------

Dean sat in the hospital waiting room with a ream of forms, feeling completely lost. He always tried to fill these out as truthfully as possible, except for the pesky things like 'name' and 'address.' Last hospitalization? Shit, he wasn't sure. Was that the last time something tried to strangle Sam or the last time something knocked out his baby brother? Dean scratched his head, trying to decide.

His eyes wandered regularly from the forms to the door they took Sam through. God, there had been a lot of blood. But head wounds were like that, he knew. He tried to comfort himself with the knowledge that it probably looked worse than it was. Dean checked his watch. Three hours. It had taken the admitting nurse over an hour just to convince him to sit his ass down to fill out these freaking forms. Not that he was in any big hurry. Really, he was hoping they would come get him and Sam could fill out his own damn forms. He was better at them anyway. Dean never could remember which injury happened first because – hey – as long as you survived what did it matter?

"Dean!"

What was that? Dean's head snapped up. That sounded suspiciously like a panicked Sam.

"Dean!" Sam burst through the white doors, white wrapping around his head, looking like a frenzied half-wrapped mummy. Still clad in his jeans but nothing from the waist up, he stood in the doors, wide eyes looking around the room frantically. "Deeeeeeeeean!"

Dean stood, all too aware of the fact every eye in hearing range was on his brother. "Sam?"

"Dean!" Sam darted to him, tripping over people and chairs on the way.

"Sam, what the hell are you doing?" Dean demanded, wondering why his brother looked so damn clumsy. He decided that must be a result of the nasty knock Sam took to the head.

"Dean," Sam looked visibly relieved. Then he did something damned strange. Sam bent over and wrapped his arms around Dean, pressing his head against Dean's chest.

Dean felt his heart pound in his chest. What. The. Hell? "Sammy?" he asked, his mouth gone dry.

"Mean lady," Sam whispered. Dean lowered his arms to touch his brother and found Sam was shaking. He tried to pat Sam's shoulders reassuringly as a woman holding a sleeping infant glared at him.

"What mean lady?" Dean asked, shooting the glaring woman a look of his own. It worked; she became very interested in that sleeping baby.

The white emergency room doors opened and a disheveled woman doctor stepped out. Her eyes scanned the room and fixed on Sam. Sam let out a small "eeep!" and circled around until he was on the backside of Dean. Dean watched with a mixture of increasing horror and worry.

The doctor let out a loud sigh as she approached them. Dean could feel himself change gears into big brother overdrive as Sam cringed behind him.

"Are you responsible for him?" She asked, gesturing to Sam who was having a pitiful time hiding his sasquatch body behind Dean.

"He's my brother," Dean replied defensively. One of Sam's hands let go of Dean's shirt to point frantically at the doctor several times. Dean patted Sam's arm. "Yeah, figured that out already," he muttered. He felt Sam's head nod into his back and the hand returned to clutching his shirt.

"Can we, uh, talk about this someplace a little less crowded?" Dean asked, nodding his head at the double white doors.

"Do you think he'll come with you?" She asked, her tone clear she thought that an impossible task.

"Sure. No problem," Dean assured her, though he was baffled by Sam's actions. When he tried to follow the doctor Sam stood his ground, clinging tight to Dean. With a disdainful look at an old man waiting impatiently for whatever, Dean spun around quickly, breaking Sam's hold. In the same movement, he put his little brother in a headlock and forced the giant brat to come along.

"Come on, Sam," he growled, hanging on tight. He knew Sam could easily break this hold, but his brother did not even try. Well, that was slightly reassuring. They followed the doctor, who smoothed her hair as she walked. Sam whined occasionally, but after Dean snapped a firm "shut up," he quit.

They reached a semi-private area. It was a glass enclosure that had two beds, both empty, separated by a white curtain. She motioned them inside. The closer they came, the more resistant Sam was. Finally, Dean stopped just outside the area and hauled Sam up to look him in the face.

"What the hell is wrong with you?" he demanded, shaking Sam. This was scaring the hell out of him.

Tears sprung to Sam's eyes and he bit his lip. Dean frowned; Sam had not acted like this, well, ever.

"Sammy?" He rested his hands on Sam's shoulders, squeezing lightly. "Sammy, you okay?"

Sam glared at the doctor, obviously quite upset with her. "Mean lady," he whispered.

"I'm here with you, Sammy, okay? Nothing will happen unless we say it's okay. Okay?" God, he felt like he was talking to a freaking three year old, but it was working. Sam nodded, moving back behind Dean.

"K, Dean," he whispered, hanging on to Dean's jacket. Dean shrugged at the doctor and led them into the room. She shut the doors behind them.

"Sit on the bed," Dean ordered. Sam shook his head, keeping Dean between him and the doctor. "Knock it off, Sam!"

Sam jumped on to the bed, long legs hanging off, silent tears running down his face. Dean breathed heavily, looking from Sam to the doctor and back. "Will somebody tell me what the hell is going here?"

"Mister Mahogoff, I am Doctor Jeffries." Even without Sam's reaction to her, Dean did not like her. Doctors who sounded like that were always assholes, regardless of gender or hotness, and she did not have the second option going for her anyway. "And I want to know why you did not inform us about your brother's, well, condition."

"He got hit by a car," Dean said hotly, "what else did you want to know?" Sam whimpered behind him. Dean shifted to place himself between Sam and the hostile woman. He felt Sam's shaking hand grab a fistful of his shirt.

"Not that!" Her eyes rolled expressively.

"What then!" he snapped. "And why the hell is my brother acting like he's about two?"

Her jaw dropped. Those beady, cold blue eyes shifted between Dean and Sam. Her mouth opened and closed a few times before she regained the ability to speak. "You mean, this isn't normal? For him?"

Okay, now Dean was mad. "I think I would have mentioned that earlier," he ground out through clenched teeth. "So, you have him doped to the gills or what?"

"Dean?" Sam whispered from behind him.

Dean took a deep breath before turning around. "What, Sam?" He tried to keep his voice calm, neutral, but Sam still flinched. His brother's reaction stabbed through his gut, wrenching layer upon layer of guilt.

"Am I in trouble?" he whispered. "Is Dad gonna ground me?"

Dean took a step back. "Dad?" he asked. Again – What? The? Hell?

"I didn't mean to get hurt," Sam whispered, leaning over to stay out of the doctor's line of sight. "How mad is Dad?"

"Dad's not mad, Sam," Dean swallowed hard. "Can you wait here for a minute by yourself, Sammy? So I can talk to the doctor outside your room?" A look of panic came over Sam's face. "We'll be right outside the door, Sammy, you can see us. Okay? That all right? I promise, I won't go anywhere."

Sam bit his lip, thinking it over. Finally he nodded. Dean let out the breath he had been holding. "Good. Now stay here."

"You won't leave me?" Sam called after him.

"I'll be right here, Sammy," Dean assured him, sliding the glass partition shut.

As soon as the door was closed, Dean turned on the doctor. "What the hell is going on?"

"This is not normal?" She asked again.

"Hell no, this isn't normal!" Dean struggled to keep his voice low, if for no other reason than to not freak Sammy out. "My brother had a full frigging ride to Stanford! Now what the hell happened to him?"

"It must be a result of the head injury," she concluded. "He mentioned your father. Your reaction was rather, um, severe."

Dean looked away. "Our dad. Died. A few months ago." He turned back to check on Sam. When he looked, Sam gave him a little wave. Dean tried to smile back, but it was difficult.

"Amnesia," she said, like a cat pouncing on a feathered toy.

"Excuse me? Isn't that where you totally lose your memory?" Dean asked, turning to face the doctor.

"There are many different types of amnesia," she explained, scribbling away on her clipboard. "Your brother may have regressed to an earlier, safer time in his life. In childhood. You're lucky he still remembers you.

"I want to run some more tests, including a CT scan. We were trying to get him on the platform to do one when he bolted, screaming for you." She shook her head, as though if she had figured this out earlier that might have been avoided. Doctor Jeffries looked up at Dean. "You will be assisting us with this, won't you? Your brother is proving to be, ah, a bit of a handful."

"Tell me about it," Dean muttered. "I'll help with anything that will help Sammy." He pressed a finger into her shoulder. "But you have to stop scaring him," he warned as he returned to Sam's room. When he stepped inside and shut the door, Sam visibly relaxed. "Hey, Sammy."

"Can we go now, Dean?" Sam asked, anxiety lacing his voice.

"Not yet, little brother," Dean replied. He hopped up to sit next to Sam. "They want to run a few tests first. Then we'll go." He swung his legs next to Sam's. After a few swings, Sam's legs were swinging in sync with his. He glanced over. Sam offered him a small smile.

"Will it hurt?" Sam asked in a small voice.

"Shouldn't," Dean said. "Your head hurt?"

Sam nodded, concentrating on swinging his legs.

"Sammy? What's your name? Your real name?" Dean asked, carefully avoiding Sam's eyes in case his face gave his concern away.

"Sammy Winchester. Why wouldn't I use my real name, Dean?" Sam asked, eyes wide.

"It's a game, Sammy," Dean explained. "I told that doctor, the mean lady, our last name was Mahogoff. You need to remember that."

"Oh!" Sam kept swinging his legs with Dean. He giggled. "Does that mean we won't have to tell Dad?"

"I promise not to tell Dad, if you agree to do what the doctors tell you," Dean offered. It was weird talking to Sam this way. It was like talking to Sam and not-Sam at the same time.

"You – you're not gonna leave?" Sam's voice broke as he asked.

"No, Sam. I'll do whatever you want me to do," Dean promised. Sam nodded, really grinning this time. "Sammy? Do you remember how old I am?"

Sam frowned. His legs stopped as he concentrated. He looked down and shook his head. "Sorry, Dean."

"It's okay, Sammy," Dean rested a hand on Sam's shoulder. His hand rubbed in tight circles.

"Did I forget your birthday again?" Sam asked, looking anxious.

"No, Sammy. Don't worry about it." Dean sighed. "The doctor said you probably have amnesia. Know what that is?"

Sam's face puckered with concentration. "Is that where you forget stuff?"

"Yeah, it is," Dean tried not to show any enthusiasm for this small link to Sam, but it was difficult. "I guess you hit your head harder than I thought."

"How did I hit my head?" Sam asked.

Dean shook his head. "We can talk about that later, after we leave."

"Dean? Where do we live now?" Sam asked, panic creeping in his voice again. "I can't remember where we live!"

Dean spotted the doctor heading back their way. "Not now, Sammy. Maybe they're ready for your tests." A hand gripped Dean's arm tight. "Easy, Sammy," Dean patted his brother's hand. Returning to a crummy motel room did not bother Dean. They had pretty much grown up living in places like that. Sam would undoubtedly find it "normal" as defined by the Winchesters.


	2. Chapter 2

Wow, wow and wow! Thanks so much for the amazing response to this story!! I don't think anything I've written to date has garnered so many reviews or alerts. Thank you, thank you, thank you!! And a HUGE THANKS to _**hotshow**_, because most of this story was her idea and she keeps me going in the right direction. I particularly like the beginning of this chapter, and I hope you do too.

**Chapter 2**

"Dean! Dean!" Sam slid in stocking feet around the hall corner. "Dean!"

Dean protected his full cup of coffee from another Sammy attack. The last one wound up all over the floor and wall next to Sam's room. "Yeah, I'm coming, I'm coming."

A wide grin was plastered across Sam's face as he motioned to Dean. This was suspicious. Dean crept along behind his brother, wondering what was going on. Sam pressed a finger against his lips, pointing to his room. Dean peeked around the corner to find two nurses tearing Sam's room apart, frantically searching for something.

"Sam?" Dean whispered. "What's going on?"

Sam grinned, holding out his arm. He pointed to the charm on his bracelet. "I told them I lost it and you would be mad." He giggled, watching the fun.

Dean considered fussing at Sam for causing trouble, but after all the tests his brother endured for the past couple of days, not to mention a few nurses who bore a family resemblance to Attila the Hun, he figured this was justified.

"Where is it, Sam?" Dean said loudly, throwing his brother a wink. "Didn't I tell you not to lose it?"

Sam covered his mouth with both hands, holding in the laughter. It was good to see his little brother in such a good mood. The two nurses searching for Sam's charm froze at the sound of his voice. Dean knew he had been something of an overprotective terror, but he had not realized how much until now. Both women were staring at him in horror, as if he might explode.

"Get out," he growled at them, enjoying their discomfort. The nurses bolted from Sam's room.

Dean grinned at their retreating backs. He took his regular seat in Sam's room, massaging his sore neck with one hand. Sleeping in a chair was just not good for him.

"Boy, Dean, you sure do scare them," Sam jabbed a thumb at the racing nurses. "But you know who you don't scare?"

"Who's that, Sammy?" He sipped his coffee, wondering where Sam was going with this. Sam had been coming up with a lot of oddball stuff lately. He supposed it was due to the fact his brother thought like a five year old at the moment.

Sam grinned broadly. "Me."

Dean chuckled. "Good. Don't want to scare you."

"Dean? Something's been bothering me. Can I ask you?" Sam peered at him earnestly.

"Sure, Sammy. You know you can ask me anything." _Doesn't mean I'll give you a real answer, but you can ask._

"When did you get short?"

Dean choked on his coffee. "When what?" he sputtered. "Huh?"

Sam stared at him with those earnest eyes. "When did you get short?"

"Dude, I am not short," Dean pointed a finger at Sam. "You're just unnaturally tall."

Sam frowned. "And that's what all the tests are for? To see why I'm so tall?"

"No, Sam," Dean sighed. "To see what's going on inside that thick skull of yours."

"So it doesn't bother you?" Sam insisted. "That I'm taller?"

"No," Dean rubbed a hand over his face. "It doesn't bother me." _What bothers me is that you think you're a little kid. _He tried to force a smile on his face, but he was pretty sure it was not as convincing as he would like. Sam did not look reassured.

"I never wanted to be taller than you, Dean." Sam continued.

"Why not, Sam? I thought you'd like that," Dean sipped his coffee.

"So what's going on inside my thick skull?" Sam asked, perching on the side of his bed.

"No clue," Dean said. "You've always been a mystery to me, Sammy."

Sam giggled again. "I was talking about the tests, Dean!"

"Oh, that," Dean waved his hand in the air to dismiss the question. "Nothing too bad, Sammy. Don't worry about it." _Bruised brain, excess fluid, weirdo amnesia that the doctors want to write a paper about, but nothing too concerning, really._ "They should be releasing you pretty soon." He grinned.

Sam's face split into a broad smile. "Yeah? Then can we go see Dad?"

"Uh, actually, Sam…"

"Not yet," Doctor Jeffries announced, breezing into Sam's room. "I'm afraid we will need to keep Sammy here for at least a week. For observation."

"It's Sam," Dean said standing, "and we agreed you would release him after the tests were done."

"That was before I knew he needed observation," she said, glaring at him disdainfully. "At least a week, Sam." She spun around and marched out before the tears sprang from Sam's eyes.

Dean mumbled something involving enough four letter words to make Sam's eyes go wide. "Back in a minute, Sam."

He saw Jeffries' retreating back at the end of the corridor and rushed to catch up. Dean lost her in the next hall. Grumbling to himself about pain in the ass doctors who needed a good lay, he nearly passed the closed door he wanted. Dean paused outside Jeffries' office when he realized there were voices behind that door.

"But you can't just handle the brother. Not forever," a male voice protested. Dean frowned.

"I don't have to. Just long enough to petition the courts for custody. We can prove Sammy is mentally unstable and that his brother is not fit to care for him as well as we can." Dean's hands clenched into fists and he took a step back. "Then we'll be able to study him for as long as the condition continues."

He lifted a foot, directing all his energy into the door. It burst open, revealing Jeffries and a male doctor Dean recognized from some of Sam's tests. "We're leaving. Now. If you want any forms signed, you'd better find them fast."

He spun on his heel to march back to Sam's room. Even the cute nurse, the one he usually cut a lot of slack, jumped out of his way as he headed for his brother. "Sammy!" he shouted down the hall. Sam's head appeared through an open doorway. "Change clothes. We're getting the hell out of here."

"Whoo-hoo!" Sam's cry echoed in the corridor.

By the time Dean made it to Sam's room, his brother was nearly dressed and had all his things in a pile on the bed. Dean grabbed clothes, stuffing them into Sam's duffel. "Hurry up," he barked, wanting to put as much distance between them and that bitch doctor as possible.

Jeffries raced into Sam's room, stopping short at the activity. "Mister Mahogoff, I don't know what you think you heard, but this won't help your brother."

Dean leveled a glare at Sam's doctor. "Neither are you." He stuffed more clothes in the duffel. "Sam doesn't need a paper written about him. We need answers."

"And we can get those for you," she pleaded.

"And get Sam?" Dean slung the full duffel over his shoulder, staring right in her hard, cold blue eyes. "Not a chance, bitch."

He headed out the door. "Come on, Sam." Dean paused, just long enough to make sure Sam was walking beside him.

"I'm leaving with my brother!" Sam shouted at the nurses' station as they passed. "Bye!" He waved.

In the parking lot he felt Sam's hand slip into his. Startled, Dean looked over. "What?" he held up Sam's hand.

Sam's face was serious as he answered, "I'm not allowed to cross the parking lot without holding hands, Dean."

"Right." Dean nodded to himself. Since he and Sam started traveling together his image as a flaming heterosexual was in constant jeopardy, and this was not going to help. Maybe he should just put up signs: 'nookie-free zone.' In neon. Damn it!

As they crossed the parking lot, Dean cast glances at his brother. Sam looked perfectly normal, and unless you actually talked to him, no one should notice he was under the misconception that he was about five years old. Frigging doctors and their papers. If they did have anything that could help him, they were probably keeping it to themselves so they could study Sam.

Dean unlocked the car, threw Sam's duffel in the backseat, and motioned to his brother to get in. Sam peered in the windows, cupping his hands around his eyes to see better, before opening the door. He sunk into the passenger seat with a sigh.

"What's wrong, Sam?" Dean asked as he started the car.

"When I saw the car, I thought Dad was here."

Dean flinched. How could he forget that one little detail? He cleared this throat. "Dad gave me the car, Sam."

"Really?" Sam was surprised. "When?"

"A few years ago," he said evasively, hoping Sam would not press the issue.

"Oh." Sam was quiet the next few lights. "I guess that's one of the things I forgot, huh?"

_That and almost twenty years of your life._ "I guess." Dean shrugged. "No big deal." Half his attention was on Sam as he drove, but he hoped it was not obvious. He knew when his brother was more, ah, himself, Sam would notice. This version of Sam, however, was oblivious. Maybe it was because Sam expected everything to be about him when he was little. He always was the center of attention.

Dean was determined to make it at least two towns away before stopping for the night, but it seemed Sam had other plans. "Dean? I need to go."

"Go where?" he asked as his eyes scanned the area for fast food places and gas stations.

"You know," Sam bounced in his seat, "go!"

"Okay, hang on. There's a restaurant up ahead." Dean headed for the closest fast food place.

"Hurry, Dean," Sam warned, bouncing in his seat.

Dean raced into the parking lot, not paying attention to which franchise the fast food restaurant was. He jumped out of the car, waving for Sam to get out. Sam bolted from the car only to stop dead at the door. Dean reached out to push it open when he noticed the clown painted on the glass. His eyes darted to the interior; it was filled with pictures of clowns and a life sized clown statue. Damn.

"Uh, think you can hold it to the next gas station?" he asked, looking up at Sam's terror-stricken face.

Sam backed away, shaking his head.

"We don't have to eat here," Dean explained, grasping his brother by the arm, "but if you gotta go, you gotta go. Come on."

Sam might think he was a little kid, but he certainly had the strength of an adult. A physically fit adult at that. After several fruitless moments of trying to wrestle Sam through the door, Dean leaned back to consider his options. A quick scan of the area provided a secondary option.

"Look, Sam. There's some trees right there. I'll stand guard." Dean looked at his brother hopefully.

Sam shook his head. "It's number two, Dean." His lips quivered and his eyes were red-rimmed.

"Then you got no choice, kiddo. Look," he shifted his jacket so Sam could see his gun. "Any clown comes within ten feet of you, and I'll take care of it. Okay?"

Sam bit his lip and nodded. He shoved Dean at the door. "You first. Make sure there's no clowns nearby."

"Right." Dean rubbed his jaw as he entered, not quite believing he was on clown patrol. He walked the length of the windows by the door, making a show of looking for evil clowns, before opening the door for Sam. "Bathrooms are that way," he pointed down a short hall.

Sam nodded as he rushed by. When he slid into a booth to wait for his brother, Dean noticed a couple of people staring at him. All he could muster was a weak smile. "He, uh, doesn't like clowns." That earned him stronger stares. What the hell was he doing explaining anything to complete strangers? To hell with them. Dean glared back until they looked away. Much better.

Sam took forever. Fortunately, Dean was timing him so he knew it was only ten minutes and that did not warrant busting in the bathroom door. Still, it felt a lot longer, especially with the whispers and looks coming his way from the people who saw them come in. Dean sighed, drumming his fingers on the table.

"Dean!" Sam's head poked out of the bathroom. "Come here! You gotta see this!"

Dean tried to prepare himself for whatever fascinating thing Sam found in the bathroom. He was not big on religion, but he found himself promising God he would never bring Sam to a clown place again as long as it was not some creative wall 'art' or a really huge turd that he had to see. He pushed open the door with trepidation.

"Watch!" Sam stood next to the soap dispenser. He pressed the button and a white mound formed in his palm. "It's foam!"

_Thank you, God. No more clowns, I swear._ Dean forced a grin. "That's great, Sammy. You ready to go now?"

Sam rinsed off his hand. "Okay, Dean." His eyes narrowed suspiciously at the door as he wiped his wet hand off on his jeans. "Have you checked lately?"

"Yep. No clowns." Dean jerked his head at the door. "Let's go." He held the door open for Sam, led his brother through the groups of people waiting to place their orders, and out the door. Luckily he was able to park near the door, so the hand holding was not needed.

"Hungry? Want some drive-thru?" Dean asked as he started the car.

"Not from here," Sam insisted, scowling.

Dean grinned. "No problem, Sammy. Let's find a clown-free zone."


	3. Chapter 3

WOW!! We must have hit a nerve or something with this story, because I've never had so many people putting one of my stories on alert before, or so many reviews! Big thanks to _**hotshow **_for being my driving force and funneling me in the right direction. And HUGE thanks to everyone following this. This chapter is a little shorter than usual, but it is important for set-up.

Chapter 3

Dean popped a few aspirin to ward off the headache setting in. Thundercats roared from the motel television. He didn't know they still broadcast that stupid show. Sometimes syndication was pure evil.

Sam stared at the flickering screen, so engrossed by the moronic characters he was stupefied. His mouth hung slightly open and his eyes were glossed over. There was no expression on his face.

Dean watched his huge baby brother, wondering what in the hell he was going to do. He had been counting on the doctors to find a solution, a cure. But all they were interested in was how many papers they could write. Then he remembered Sammy's laptop. It was in a leather carrying case with his stuff.

Dean pulled out the laptop and set it up on the table. He kept an eye out for Sam as he booted it up and connected to a wireless network. As Thundercats made way for Transformers (where were they dredging this stuff up from?) Dean began a web search on amnesia. After a few hours of twenty year old cartoons, the most helpful thing Dean found was that most types of amnesia were not permanent. Well, at least that gave him some hope.

Dean sat back, rubbing his hands over his face. He had forgotten how addicted Sam was to cartoons. Even when they were kids he didn't think it was healthy, but Sam turned out pretty well anyway.

Most of the websites he found recommended time, patience, and familiar places and people. Should he haul Sam to Palo Alto and try to look up his brother's friends? Even if it sounded like a good idea, Dean would never do that. Show a bunch of geeks who knew his brother for a few years what happened to him? No way. He would never subject Sam to that kind of humiliation. What about Ellen and the Roadhouse? Well, he guessed the welcome mat was still out, but that was not exactly familiar on the place or people front. They had only been there in person a few of times. Bobby? Now that was a thought. What about Bobby's place?

He reached out to turn off the television. "Sam? Time for bed."

"Aw, Dean! Five more minutes?" Sam opened his eyes wide, pleading.

"Go brush your teeth," Dean nodded to the bathroom.

"But De-e-an!" Sam whined.

"Go on," Dean repeated. "Or no bedtime story."

Sam gasped and jumped out of bed. Dean shook his head as he pulled out his cell phone. That threat always worked. It was funny how those kinds of things were coming back to him. He called Bobby.

"Hello?"

"Hey, Bobby, it's Dean. You going to be around your place for a while?" he asked, keeping an ear out for trouble in the bathroom.

"Dean? What the hell is going on with you and Sam?" Bobby's voice raged through the phone.

Dean pulled it away from his ear to stare at it for a moment before answering. "Bobby? What do you mean?"

"I mean your faces are all over the news! I've been watching the alerts on you two for half an hour!"

What the hell? Dean flicked on the television, changing from the ancient cartoon channel to one that might carry the news. When the commercial was over, a sketch of him and a photo of Sam came on side by side. The news anchor announced that he had kidnapped poor Sammy, a grown man with the mental state of a child, from Sam's legal custodians at the hospital. The police were waiting for ransom demands.

"Son of a bitch," he hissed.

"At least. What's going on, Dean? And what's all this crap about Sam's legal custodians?" Bobby demanded.

"I'm going to kill that bitch doctor." Dean sat heavily on the bed. "They didn't get my car or plates, did they?"

"Not that I've seen," Bobby informed him. "Dean, what is all this about?"

"Sam has some weirdo amnesia," Dean checked the bathroom door. It was still closed. "He thinks he's about five."

"Damn. And the hospital?"

"I overheard Sam's doctor talking about going to court to get legal custody of him. That's when we left." He took a deep breath to calm himself. "I had no idea that bitch would take it this far. Wait a minute. Bobby? Did this make national news?"

"Nah, it's still within the state. But in my area, we don't exactly have a lot of channel options, so I picked up all the news stations for a couple of states. Keeps me on my toes."

And plenty of possible leads for hunts, Dean reasoned. He was always amazed that some hunters had a home base, one place they always went back to. Bobby's place, filled with books, research, and mementos, always shocked him no matter how many times he went there.

"How hot are we, Bobby?" Dean asked. "I'm looking for a safe place to take Sam, but I don't want to endanger anyone."

Bobby's deep laugh sounded good in his ear. "Dean, don't worry about it. Nobody is going to look for a couple of hospital fugitives in my salvage yard. If you want to bring Sam here, come on. From the sounds of it, you could probably use a little help anyway, huh?"

"No. Sam's no trouble," Dean insisted. Really, like he would need help with Sam! He never needed any help when they were growing up. "But I've been doing some research. Most of the websites I've checked recommend being around familiar places and people. Since we don't have a home, well, I thought your place might be close enough."

There was silence from the other end. Dean watched Sammy come out of the bathroom and show off his brushed teeth before climbing into bed. "Bobby?" he asked, wondering if the connection dropped.

"I'm here, Dean. You boys come on. I'll be expecting you. Do you want separate rooms or to share?"

Dean eyed Sam who waved at him impatiently. "We'd probably be better off sharing." At least that way, Dean would be able to keep an eye on Sam at all times.

"Your room will be ready when you get here, Dean. When do you figure? Sometime tomorrow?"

"I'll shoot for that, Bobby. I'll call you from the road. Thanks, Bobby. This means a lot."

"Yeah. It does." The connection was severed. Dean set his phone on the table between the beds. That was an odd conversation. He didn't know what to make of Bobby's response, but it didn't really matter. They had a familiar place to stay.

"So what story do you want tonight, Sammy? Sammilocks and the three Wendingos, or Samuel and Gretel?"

Sam laughed, pulling up his covers. "Dean! Just tell me a regular bedtime story. Like the one about the girl who went to sleep for a long time?"

"Sleeping Beauty?" Dean asked, rubbing the back of his neck. "Not too sure I remember that one."

"That's okay," Sam snuggled down into the bed, "the parts you make-up are usually the best part anyway." He grinned at Dean.

For a split second that grin was so familiar it triggered a memory from their childhood.

_Dean wrapped an arm around his little brother, Sammy. Sammy's birthday was tomorrow and he would be a big seven year old, but that didn't keep him from snuggling up to his big brother at night, especially when there was a big thunderstorm outside. _

"_Dean? Can I have a story? One with dragons and fairies?" Sammy asked._

"_Not Sleeping Beauty again? Sammy, I'm getting a little tired of that one." Dean groaned, pulling up the covers._

"_Please, Dean? And do the voices of the witch and the dragon." Sammy demanded._

"_Sammy…"_

"_Please, Dean? Please?" Sam batted his big eyes at Dean. _

_Dean sighed, trying to sound heavily put upon. "Fine. A long, long time ago a princess was born."_

"Dean?" Sam watched expectantly from his bed.

"Sorry, Sam. Yeah, okay. Sleeping Beauty, huh? Okay, once upon a time, there was this really hot chick…"

"Dean!"

"What!"

"Do it right, Dean." Sam shook a finger at him.

Dean sighed. "A long, long time ago, a princess was born." Sam smiled as he snuggled down into the bed. Dean lay back against the headboard as he struggled to remember the storyline. Sam fussed at him when he did the voices wrong, but his voice had changed since Sam was little. He really couldn't do the squeaky, high-pitched witch's voice so he tried to sound like Sam's bitch doctor, which Sam did not appreciate for some strange reason. Finally Sam nodded off to sleep and Dean could turn out the lights.

He stared up at the dark ceiling for a long time, unable to sleep. What the hell was he going to do?


	4. Chapter 4

Well, the alerts are down. Again. I was going to wait, but some of you are persistent enough to look for the updates and I don't want to let you down!

**Chapter 4 **

Dean woke early in the morning. His first action was to check on Sam, who was still sleeping soundly. He tried to remember the last time his baby brother had slept so well, unplagued by nightmares or visions. He wondered if he had time to slip out and grab breakfast before Sam woke, but he thrust the idea from his mind. Normal Sam – sure, no problem. Sam who thinks he's five – uh uh, no way. Sam would freak if he woke up by himself.

He tried to remember how old Sam was the first time he and Dad left his brother someplace other than the Impala alone. Well, it was a lot older than five, he was sure of that. He rubbed his eyes, still wondering. Had they ever left Sam alone?

"Dean?" Sam's voice mumbled from the other bed. "I want Lucky Charms."

"Sammy?" Dean rolled out of bed. "You awake?"

"Lucky Charms," Sam repeated. "Not scabettios." His eyes were shut tight.

"Sam." Dean shook him gently. "Sammy."

Sam's eyes cracked open. "Dean?" He sat up, looked around. "Where are we?"

"Still at the motel," Dean answered gently.

Sam looked up at him. "Will we see Dad today, Dean?"

"No, Sammy. Not today. Let's get dressed, we have a long drive ahead of us." He wondered how long he could put off Sam's questions about Dad. Dean figured not much longer, Sam always was too persistent for his own good.

"Where are we going, Dean?" Sam asked, bouncing out of bed with a huge grin.

"We're going to Bobby's," Dean said, stuffing clothes into his duffel.

Sam frowned. "Who's Bobby?"

Dean cringed. He didn't know how long they had been visiting Bobby's, but he had assumed Sam would not need an explanation. "He's a good friend of Dad's." He carefully avoided eye contact. Sam was too good at picking up on when he was hiding something. "We're going to stay there for a little while."

"Until Dad comes?" Sam asked, sounding excited.

"For a while," Dean replied evasively.

"Dean? Where's my green shirt?" Sam demanded, searching through his duffel. "Did you do something with it?"

Dean tried to remember if Sam had a green shirt. "Why don't you wear the purple one with the horse?"

"I don't have…" Sam pulled out a purple shirt. He unfolded it, revealing the white horse. "Hey, cool. I don't remember this." He pulled it on. "Dean, what do you think? Awesome, right?"

Dean had a number of descriptions for a guy wearing a purple shirt with a white horse emblazoned across the front, and not one included the word 'awesome,' although several did include the word 'chick' or 'girly.' He bit the inside of his cheek to prevent those from spilling out and hurting Sammy's feelings, so he just nodded, thinking silence was probably the best way to go.

Sam admired his shirt in the mirror. "Dean? When did I get so big? I kinda look grown up."

"When you started eating your vegetables like I told you," Dean answered evenly, heading to the bathroom to collect the rest of their stuff.

When he came back out, he saw the rest of Sam's clothes were stuffed in his brother's duffel. There were colored bits sticking out which Sam was persistently trying to force inside.

"Need some help, Sammy?" Dean asked, sticking their toiletries inside his duffel.

"No," Sam insisted.

Sam looked strange. It took Dean a minute to realize why. "Sam? Did you shave?"

Sam raised his eyes with a puzzled look. "Shave?"

Shit. He forgot. Dean pulled his electric razor out of his bag and held it up. "Come on." He nodded to the bathroom. Hesitating only a moment with indecision, Dean decided to shave again himself. The cute, perky nurse had been the only one Sam would allow to come near him with the noisy razor they used at the hospital. That was just another reason Dean had cut her so much slack.

When he finished he handed over his razor to Sam. "Want to give it a spin?" he asked, grinning.

"For real, Dean? You're gonna let me try your razor?" Sam gasped, reaching for it like it was a precious object.

"Why not? You've been eating your veggies." Dean moved so Sam could stand in front of the mirror. He watched closely as Sam shaved, making sure his brother didn't shave any place that didn't need it. A few spots were missed, but overall it wasn't too bad. Sammy looked more like Sam when he was finished.

"Well?" Sam asked, looking to Dean for approval.

"Good job," Dean replied with a nod. He knew Sam did not own an electric razor, preferring the smoothness of shaving with one of those yuppie triple blade things. "Maybe we need to find one just for you? Maybe like the one you had at the hospital."

Sam's nose wrinkled. "Didn't like it. Too noisy. But I like yours."

"Works for me," Dean agreed, knowing his razor was almost as noisy as the other one. "But it'll have to wait until we've made it through a couple of towns first."

"Why, Dean?" Sam asked, sitting on the bed with a bounce.

Well, that was a stupid thing to say out loud, wasn't it? Dean mentally kicked himself. If this kept up, he was going to develop a bruise on his temporal lobe. God, he was reading way too much about brains. "Stores won't be open until then," he lied, slinging his duffel over his shoulder. "Ready? Got everything?"

"Yep. Can I carry my bag myself, Dean?" Sam asked, eyes bright.

"Sure. Come on." Dean nodded to the door. The car was parked close to their room, fortunately. Dean opened the back door and tossed in his bag. He waited for Sam to do the same. It took Sam three attempts but he finally got it. Again, Dean wondered over Sam's clumsiness. Despite his size, normally Sam was graceful, confident in his steps and movements. Once again the sheer weirdness of the whole situation enveloped him, making it all seem surreal.

"Dean?" Sam's voice snapped him from his thoughts.

"Hop in. Let's go." Dean slid in behind the wheel, determined to put as much distance between them and that bitch doctor as possible. He hoped to make it out of the state before they stopped to shop for a razor.

"No clowns," Sam reminded him as he climbed into the passenger seat. Sam's foot caught on the door ledge and Sam tumbled into the car. Dean barely caught his brother's head before it could impact with the wheel.

"Sammy? What happened?" Dean asked as he felt that old familiar panic rising.

Sam looked at him with glazed eyes. "What?"

"Sam," Dean pushed his brother into a sitting position. He reached over to haul Sam's recalcitrant foot into the car. "What happened? Why did you trip?"

Sam blinked hard a few times and his eyes cleared. "Did I trip, Dean? Sorry. I'll be more careful." He slammed his door shut.

Dean stared over at his brother for a long moment before starting the car. He did not like that answer, not one bit. Would he have to find a new doctor for Sam? Damn it! Nothing he read last night said to expect it to get worse. What the hell was up with the clumsiness anyway?

As he pulled out onto the road, his cell went off. Assuming it was Bobby, Dean answered without bothering to check caller id. "Yeah?"

"Dean? Where the hell are you?" Ellen's voice blasted through the phone.

Dean cringed. He had totally forgotten his promise to check on whatever was littering the edges of a small town with mutilated bodies. "Ellen," he breathed, reminding himself to keep the car in just one lane. "Uh, sorry. I should have called."

"Damn straight you should have called!" She shouted into the phone. "I've been trying to call you for three days, but your cell just went straight to voicemail. Voicemail doesn't do me a damn bit of good, Dean."

"Yeah, I know," Dean said. As if he didn't have enough to deal with, now Ellen was pissed at him. "I forgot about the case. And I wasn't allowed to have my cell on in the hospital."

"Dean! Is it Dad?" Sam demanded from the passenger seat. Dean shook his head, waiting for Ellen to continue her rant.

"Forgot! How the hell do you forget about a case? And what hospital?" Before Dean could answer, Ellen's voice dropped to just below a shout. "One of you boys hurt?"

Dean sighed. Sam stared at him like he was lying and Ellen needed the answer that would get him off the hook. "Sam. It was a hit-and-run."

Sam pointed a finger at him. "You lied. It is Dad, isn't it? You said you wouldn't tell!"

Dean tried to convey with his eyes that it wasn't Dad, but Sam was not buying it.

"Dean? Is he okay?" Ellen's voice filled with worry. He felt a small surge of relief, maybe he was off the hook. Then again, he reflected, it wouldn't really matter if he was off the hook or not.

"That depends on your definition of okay," Dean answered, unwilling to disclose the full details with his brother sitting right beside him. "Let's just say we won't be hunting anything for a while."

A strong hand wrenched the phone from his grasp. Dean had to let it go or risk driving off the road. He shot Sam a strong look, which Sam returned.

"Dad? I'm sorry, I didn't mean to get hurt." Sam babbled into the phone. "Please don't punish Dean for it."

"Give me the phone, Sam," Dean demanded, holding out his hand.

"Not until I hear what Dad says!" Sam shouted, his voice loud in the confines of the car. "Dad?"

Dean glanced over as often as he could, watching Sam. Sam's face twisted into disbelief as his eyes widened. Silently he placed the phone into Dean's outstretched hand and looked out the window.

"Sam? You there, sweetie?" Ellen's voice rang out.

"It's me," Dean sighed.

"What was all that about your dad, Dean? It was like he didn't remember." Ellen sounded a little scared now. Welcome to my world, thought Dean.

"He doesn't," Dean confirmed, stealing another glance to his right. Sam stared blankly out the window.

"Amnesia?" She asked. Dean heard her breath catch.

"I'd prefer not everyone knew about this," Dean replied.

"No problem, Dean. I can find someone else to look into that job, I just wish you had called."

"Sorry." Had it even crossed his mind, he would have called. Even last night in the motel room, his only concern had been Sam. To be honest, he did not feel sorry in the least, but Ellen did not need to know that. "I'll try to give you a call later."

"Okay. You two take care. Let me know if there's anything I can do."

Can you restore nearly twenty years of Sam's memory? Can you change him back into my pain in the ass brother? "Sure, Ellen. Thanks. Bye." He ended the call before she could say anything else. Shoving the phone under his thigh, he glanced over at Sam again. Same position.

"Sammy? You getting hungry?" Dean asked, trying to keep his voice light.

"I thought that was Dad," Sam mumbled.

"I told you it wasn't," Dean pointed out and immediately regretted it.

Anger clouded Sam's face as he glared at Dean. Dean wondered if he should pull off the road, just in case. "Dean. Where is Dad?"

Dean swallowed hard, keeping his eyes on the road. "What do you mean, Sammy?"

"Where is Dad?" Sam asked again. This time his voice sounded so normal, so demanding, hope flared in Dean's chest.

"Sam?" He chanced a look over. "Is that you?"

Sam glared at him, chin out in defiance, eyes blazing. Dean had to pull off on the side of the road. He turned in his seat. "Sam?" he asked again gently.

Then Sam's arms folded over his chest, his chin ducked down to press against his collarbone and his eyes closed.

"Sammy?" Dean reached out to grasp his brother's shoulder, give him a little shake. "You with me here?"

"What happened, Dean?" Sam's voice was soft and sad. "Where's Dad?" Sam looked up, tears streaming down his face. "He always comes when we're in the hospital, Dean. What happened?"

"Not always," Dean muttered before he could stop himself. That was not fair, he told himself, the man was not even around to offer a defense. Okay, maybe that part was not fair, but it was still true. A small part of him still held onto the bitterness stemming from the fact when he was dying, when the doctors offered no hope, his father could not even manage a simple phone call. He wondered, not for the first time, if that was the motivation for when it happened a second time that his dad…he shook it off. "What do you remember, Sammy?" he asked softly.

Sam shook his head. "I know something happened," he said in a small voice.

"Yeah. Something happened." Dean answered, his own voice barely above a whisper as he tried to force away the last image of his father, in the hospital with all those people trying to revive him. Dad's official time of death till echoed in his mind.

"Dad's not coming." It was not a question, it was a statement.

"No." He wished he had another answer for Sam. He could have lied, he knew, but that felt wrong. The fewer lies he told Sam, he reasoned, the more likely Sam could recover his memories. Not that he would really blame his brother for blocking out the last couple of years, but most of his life? Well, Sam always was an overachiever.

With a sigh, Dean pulled back onto the road. "You about ready to shop for a new electric razor?" he asked.

Out of the corner of his eye he saw Sam wipe the tears away. "I guess."

"You want a quiet one, huh?" Dean asked, trying to keep on a safe topic.

"With Spiderman," Sam said with a nod.

"Spiderman?" Dean glanced over. "Seriously? I don't think they make those."

Sam's face fell again. Afraid the tears might return, Dean's mind jumped to a solution. "But we could pick up some Spiderman stickers, and you could decorate it."

"Okay." Sam managed a weak smile. "Okay, Dean." Sam scooted over on the seat until he sat right next to Dean. "Dean?"

"Yeah, Sammy?" He wondered over Sam's actions.

"Something's not going to happen to you. Right?" Sam's head leaned over, resting heavily on Dean's shoulder.

"Who? Me? Nah."


	5. Chapter 5

All right, I will answer the reviews when the alerts come back up, but I am trying to read them all anyway. Thanks so much for reading despite the lack of alerts!! Okay, this chapter should be entertaining and explain why that doctor is so intent to get her claws into Sammy.

**Chapter 5**

Shopping with a six-foot-four five year old was an experience, to say the least. First, Dean had to pick one of those stores that sold every damn thing under the sun because he figured that would be the only way to buy an electric razor and Spiderman stickers in one stop. Plus, they would be paying in cash so he wanted to get out of there as cheaply as possible. The credit card he was using had the name Mahogoff and he didn't want to leave a papertrail.

To say the parking lot was huge would be an understatement, and for some reason at ten on a Thursday morning it was over half full, forcing them to park some ways from their objective. Of course, that meant more hand holding. Dean resigned himself to the fact everyone they met today would think he was gay. Period. No middle ground. No need for a neon sign even.

What he had not counted on was the fact the toy section was right next to personal hygiene. Really, what freaking moron thought of that shit? That was plain sadistic. Women with small children couldn't shop for toothpaste without cries of "Mommy, I want!" As Dean perused the electric razors, Sam kept drifting off towards the brightly colored toys.

"Sam!" Dean reached out to yank his brother back beside him. He picked up a box and thrust it in Sam's hands. "What do you think of this one?"

Sam barely glanced down at it. "Is it like yours?" His eyes were riveted across the aisle.

Dean suppressed the growl he felt crawling up his throat. "It's similar," he lied, just wanting to get the hell out of there.

Sam shrugged. "Okay, if you say so."

Dean took the box and threw it back onto the shelf. He spotted the newer model of his razor a few steps away and grabbed it. "Here it is," he muttered to himself. "Why do they have to hide stuff?"

As he turned triumphantly to Sam, Dean realized his brother was gone. One moment Sam stood right beside him and the next – nothing but air. Dean looked from side to side, but Sam had not crawled onto any of the shelves on this aisle, not that he would fit. He fought down a surge of panic as he raced to the end of the aisle, hoping Sam had not made it far. Six-foot-four with a shaggy brown mop for hair ought to be easy to spot.

Dean barely dodged an elderly woman pushing a shopping cart full of flowers and vitamins as he ran full tilt out of the razor aisle. He stopped in the middle of the wide walkway separating personal hygiene from toys to look around frantically, the razor box stuck under his arm.

"Dean!" Sam's voice called out. Dean spun around to follow it. Sam waved to him from deep inside the toy department. "Dean, come see this!"

Dean grumbled to himself about sadistic mega-store chains as he made his way through shoppers who should be working normal jobs instead of being here, in his way. When he reached his brother, Sam was standing in front of row after row of superhero action figures. Great. Perfect.

"What is it, Sammy?"

"Dean, can I get a toy?" Sam turned wide, puppy dog eyes on him. "Just one? Please?"

Dean bit his lip in indecision. Buying Sam a toy would make him happy, and would probably be better amusement than just watching cartoons all the time. However, if Sam started collecting toys, could that reinforce his conception of himself as a kid instead of an adult? Shit! What was the right decision here?

"I want that one." Sam pointed out a large Batman action figure.

"Batman?" Dean frowned. "I thought you liked Spiderman?" He picked up the equally large, multi-jointed Spiderman figure.

From the way Sam grinned, Dean had a feeling whatever his brother was planning to say would make him buy the damn thing. "But Batman doesn't have any super powers, just his brain and his muscles." The grin widened. He was seriously in trouble. "Just like you and Dad."

Oh, low blow! Dean rolled his eyes, not really buying the comparison for an instant, seeing it for the manipulation it was. "Fine," he breathed. "Did you find any stickers for your razor?"

Sam had a hand behind his back. He whipped it out now with a full sheet of cartoon hero stickers. Dean wanted to demand how Sam could find all this crap so fast when it took him so damn long to locate one freaking razor, but he bit it back. "Let's go," he said, leading them toward the cash register.

"Dean!" Sam stood in the middle of the walkway, forcing people with carts to careen around him.

"What now, Sammy?" Dean tried to drag him closer to the registers. There were about thirty, but only five were open. Gee, that made sense. If shoppers had time to come in on a Thursday morning, then obviously they had time to stand and wait two hours in line. Yep, these frigging stores were run by sadists, there was no doubt. He wondered if he could find a demonic connection. That might be worth looking into.

Sam pointed to the far wall, all the way at the other end of the sea of closed registers. There was one of those frigging clown restaurants over there! _God damn it. Seriously, God, I tried. Damn it!_ There had to be a demonic connection, he was sure of it. He and Bobby were looking into this. Soon.

"Sammy, we are not going out that way, okay. Just stick by me." Dean headed to the line winding toward the closest register. He felt a sharp pull on his shirt and knew Sam was clinging to him. Maybe a different tactic would work.

"Sammy. Pretend you're Batman, okay?" Dean pointed to the boxed action figure clutched in Sam's other hand. He nodded his head at the clown place. "That's the Joker's hideout. Would Batman be scared?" What in the hell was he doing? Joker? Batman? Maybe he needed to find a doctor too, and one of those nice, quiet, padded white rooms. He glanced back to see if it was working.

Sam shook his head. "You're Batman," he insisted. "I'm Robin. Robin's allowed to be scared."

With a grin, Dean realized he could work with that. "But would Robin ever take off on Batman just because he's scared?" He waited until Sam shook his head. "Would Robin not go with Batman because he's too scared?" Sam shook his head again. "Okay then, Robin."

Satisfied with his own twisted, comic book logic, Dean turned to face the line again. They needed to take a step forward. He sighed. This was going to take forever.

"Interesting tactic." A young woman with two small children stood in front of him in line. "I may have to remember that."

Dean flashed her a smile. She was cute. Of course, the two small children were the equivalent of red flashing neon 'danger', but flirting never hurt.

"I'm getting a Batman," Sam said from over his shoulder. Dean tried not to wince or look annoyed. Sammy was definitely going to put a serious crimp in his flirting.

"I see that," the woman said with a smile. "Very nice."

One of the kids, who looked to actually be about five, held up a Spiderman attached to a motorbike. "Look what I gots."

Sam bent down to inspect it. "I didn't see that one," he mumbled. Dean feared losing their place in the line furthest from the clown place to exchange the toy. "I think I like mine better," Sam announced, straightening up.

Dean realized the sigh of relief came from him when the woman smiled. "Once we're in line, that's it. They're stuck with it," she told him. "Gotta set boundaries."

Dean nodded. "Good advice. But yours are smaller than you."

She laughed as they inched forward. "True. I didn't think about that." Unlike the people who stared at them in the clown restaurant yesterday, there was no judgment in her eyes or voice. "So you are?"

"Brothers," Dean supplied automatically, conditioned by too many motel clerks jumping to assumptions.

"Sammy." His brother said. "He's my big brother, Dean."

"Lila," she replied. "Danny and Liz." She motioned to her kids. Dean nodded at them and Sam waved.

"Sammy, you sound really proud of your big brother," Lila said, finally arriving at the register. She dumped handfuls of items from her cart onto the conveyor belt.

"Dean's the best big brother," Sam said earnestly. Dean felt the heat in his cheeks. Sam thought he was the best, huh? If he really were the best big brother, his little brother would never have been out alone to get hit by a car in the first damn place. Dean's gaze dropped to the floor with a sigh.

"I'm sure he is," Lila said. Dean could not meet her eyes. He heard the cashier announce her total.

"Dean!" Sam gave him a shove. "They're leaving. Wave!"

Dean forced his eyes up and offered a small smile to Lila.

"Sammy, you look after your big brother now," Lila called out as she arranged her kids in her shopping cart for the trip through that horrible parking lot.

"Okay!" Sam waved, a big goofy grin plastered across his face.

Without another word, Dean paid for their purchases and took Sam's hand as they left the store. Inside the car, he had to rescue Batman from his packaging. It was a battle, the packaging put up more of a fight than some vengeful spirits. Finally Dean gave up wrestling with all the stupid wire twist ties and went to the trunk. He found his wire cutters and had Batman out in less than twenty seconds. Sam was delighted.

As Dean slid behind the wheel again, Sam shouted, "You're the best, Dean!" He held up Batman triumphantly.

Dean shook his head. "No, I'm not, Sammy." He looked out through the front windshield at the people arriving to shop on their lunch hour. Poor, deluded fools. "It's my fault."

"What's your fault, Dean?" Sam's voice had a quiver to it that Dean ignored.

"Remember when you asked me how you hit your head?" Dean asked, concentrating on the traffic passing by. "You were hit by a car."

He glanced over quickly, before he lost his nerve. Sam's head tilted to one side. "Your car?" By his tone, Dean knew Sam did not think that possible.

Dean shook his head. "No. We had a fight. You were mad at me and left. While you were out, you got hit by a car."

Sam gasped. "Oh, Dean! I'm so sorry! I know I'm not supposed to cross the street by myself! I promise, Dean, I promise I won't do it again. Honest. Promise."

_Not supposed to cross the street. Won't do it again. Regressed to a safer time, in childhood._ Something flickered in Dean's mind. There was not quite enough to take root, but the glimmerings of it remained.

"It wasn't your fault, Sam," Dean replied strongly. "It was my fault. I shouldn't have let you go." _Or_ _maybe I should have listened better._ "I shouldn't have argued with you like that."

Sam's eyes were wide and wet. He shook his head. "I'm sorry, Dean. I don't want you to get into trouble."

He sighed, checking his rearview mirror before backing up. The sight of red flashing lights caused his heart to pound. "Son of a bitch," he breathed, watching the cop car careen around the corner. He fully expected it to race into the parking lot and corner them, but it disappeared down the street behind a strip center. Dean had to wait a minute before his breathing returned to normal.

"Dean?" Sam's hand grabbed his arm. "You okay?"

Dean flashed his brother a smile. "Sure, Sammy. We need to get to Bobby's."

"Are the police scary, Dean?" Sam asked as Dean carefully maneuvered around shoppers and cars vulturing for closer parking spots.

"Sometimes, Sammy. Sometimes."

----------

Doctor Elizabeth Jeffries paced the length of her office, watching the maintenance crew finally replacing her broken door. Damn that Mahogoff!

"Elizabeth," Doctor John Morgan poked his head in, skirting the crew. "Got a minute?"

"Sure," she sighed, weaving between the three men the union required to replace one stupid door. "What is it?" she demanded when they were safely out of earshot.

"Heard anything on Sammy?" Morgan asked, his brow creased with worry.

"Not yet. But it's only a matter of time," she replied airily.

"A matter of time!" he hissed. "That kid could be a ticking time bomb!"

"Keep your voice down," she barked as they passed a nurses station.

"You saw those test results," he whispered. "If the fluid on his brain continues to increase…"

"I know!" Jeffries snapped, smoothing her hair. "At his current level, Sammy is probably experiencing mild strokes, which would look like clumsiness. If it continues to rise," she checked to be certain no one could overheard, "he could lapse into a coma. Believe me, John, I know. Why do you think I alerted the police and the media?" She sighed heavily. "I don't want my license revoked any more than you do."

"Me?" Morgan stopped, looking at her in amazement. "You're his doctor. I had nothing to do with it."

She glared at him. "Funny, but your name appears right beside mine on that paper we're writing. I'd say the jury would find you culpable." She pointed a perfectly manicured finger at him. "If I go down, it won't be alone."

Morgan swallowed hard, tugging at his collar. "Need any help with that police thing?"


	6. Chapter 6

Next chapter! _**Hotshow**_ gave me the idea for, well I don't want to ruin it, but what the last part of this chapter is about. I'm pretty proud of it, I think it came out really well. It kind of wrote itself. Ch7 will post either tomorrow or Sunday. Thanks so much to everyone keeping up with this despite the lack of alerts. Here's to hoping they'll be working soon!!

**Chapter 6**

Bobby's place never changed. It was like a constant amid the variables of Life that went on all around it. Businesses to each side opened, closed, remodeled, and opened again but the salvage yard stayed exactly the same. The first rusted out hulks they drove by were the exact same ones Dean remembered seeing at the entrance forever, just a few more rust holes and dents over the years. He remembered causing a few of those dents himself.

When Dean parked near Bobby's front door, the grizzled hunter stepped outside. He was obviously waiting on them. Dean flicked his fingers off the steering wheel in a short wave.

"We're here, Sammy. Get out."

Sam clutched Batman to his chest, staring wide-eyed out the window. "It's scary here, Dean."

Scary? "What's scary, Sammy?" Dean leaned over to look out Sam's window, wondering what caught his brother's attention.

"All the dead cars," Sam whispered.

"It's a salvage yard, Sammy, not a graveyard. People come here to find parts to fix their cars. Hell, I fixed this car right over there." Dean pointed out the area that had been the Impala's home for weeks during its restoration.

"You did?" Sam asked, looking where Dean was pointing. "Where was I?"

"Here. With me." Dean shrugged. "Can we get out now? Bobby's starting to look nervous."

Bobby glared at them through the windshield, apparently trying to decide if he needed to walk up to the car or not. Dean shook his head, not wanting to spook Sammy, and Bobby stayed right where he was. As they watched, Bobby adjusted his stained ballcap a few times.

"Why is he nervous, Dean? Is he scared of you, too?" A faint smile appeared on Sam's face.

Dean grinned. "He's probably worried you won't like him. And no, I don't think Bobby's scared of me. I don't think I've ever seen anything scare Bobby."

Sam turned those earnest eyes on Dean again. "I bet you could."

Dean shook his head. "Whatever, Sammy. Let's go inside." Dean stepped out of the car.

"Hey, Bobby." He turned away to retrieve their duffels from the backseat.

"Hey, Dean, Sam." Bobby nodded solemnly to them.

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Sam's head swivel between him and Bobby. "Hi," Sam finally replied, still hugging Batman to him.

Dean led the way, feeling Sam's hand twist a fold of his shirt in one of those huge fists after they walked inside. He would have liked to watch and gauge Sam's reaction to Bobby's place, all the books stacked everywhere. It was the kind of place Sam, in his right mind, had felt very comfortable in. Except possibly for the fact none of the books were catalogued and all were arranged by Bobby's peculiar mental system which neither of the boys had yet to grasp. Sam loved things to be organized. Well, he used to anyway.

"Where do you want us, Bobby?" Dean asked as they passed into the den, skirting stacks of dusty books piled waist high.

"Upstairs, first door on the left. Your old room." Bobby's voice boomed from behind.

Dean led Sam upstairs. Once inside the room, Dean deposited their bags against the wall. Two single beds were arranged side by side, a space barely wide enough to walk through between them. A chest of drawers, something which had not been in the room last time, was pushed against the far wall. Curious, Dean opened a few drawers; they were empty. Bobby expected them to be here for a while. Some of the anxiety in Dean's chest loosened and he breathed a little easier.

"We're not unpacking, are we, Dean?" Sam asked, sounding more anxious now than he had in the hospital.

"Nah," Dean waved off the chest of drawers. "Let's go see if Bobby has any dinner plans. I'm starved. How about you?"

Sam shrugged.

"No clowns," Dean teased, smiling.

Sam rolled his eyes. "Duh, Dean."

Dean headed back downstairs knowing Sam would be close on his heels. Another realization sprang to his mind as the wooden stairs creaked under his weight. Bobby might not receive the all-cartoon channel. Probably didn't. It was a good thing Sam had Batman after all. He rubbed at his forehead, the space between his eyes. If someone told him a week ago he would be worried about the frigging cartoon channel, he might have decked him.

"You boys ready to eat?" Bobby's voice carried well in the old house. Dean glanced at the den ceiling as they passed. The split the demon caused had been repaired and the Key of Solomon redrawn without breaks. At the time he had felt guilty leaving with Bobby's house in that condition, though not guilty enough to wait even another ten minutes because he needed to get Sam to a safer place, but he could make up for it now. Maybe.

"Did they fix that?" Sam asked.

Dean spun around to see Sam pointing at the ceiling. He wanted to shout 'you remembered!' He wanted to grab his brother and shake out all the other information Sam should remember, but he didn't. "Yeah, guess they did," he said evenly, as though this were a perfectly normal topic. Which it was, and that was what made it so strange. "Did a good job, huh?"

Sam clutched Batman tighter. "Yeah. Dean?"

"What?"

"I don't have to sit under that thing, do I?" Sam stared at the ceiling.

Dean shrugged. "No, you don't have to, but it won't hurt anything. Watch." Dean walked through the room, stood dead center of the Key of Solomon, then walked back out to join Sam. "See?"

Sam nodded. "I don't want to."

Sam seemed to recognize the room from his possession, but not anything else. Well, from what he read, there was no telling what the patient would start remembering first and it could come back in bits and pieces or all at once. As usual, Sam had to do things the hard way.

Dean entered the kitchen to find Bobby taking marinated steaks out of the fridge. "What's this?" he asked, eyeing the platter.

Bobby grinned. "I figured you boys were probably sick to death of hospital food."

"I am," Sam agreed readily from over Dean's shoulder.

Bobby's grin widened. "Thought so. Wanna help me grill them?" he asked.

Dean felt Sam step closer to him, a hand snaking out to grab his shirt again. "Why don't we come out and keep you company?" he suggested, wondering how the hell he was going to be able to calm his brother's fears. As they followed Bobby outside, he decided that Sam was just going to have to get used to the fact they were here and not leaving any time soon. Hopefully his little brother would lighten up in a couple of days.

---------------

From inside one of the ancient cars quietly rusting away in Singer's Auto Salvage, a pair of deep gold eyes blinked open. It was not used to waking in the daytime, it preferred the night. It lifted its head to peer cautiously out. The smell of roasting flesh was what awakened it, caused the hunger cravings. It lifted a delicate paw, licked its pads and rubbed the paw over its face. After smoothing rumpled fur and cleaning its sensitive whiskers, it continued its vigil of Bobby Singer.

Two men had joined Singer, and they were cooking animal flesh together. Voices carried through the quiet salvage yard, dropping into its keen ears. The men sounded familiar with Bobby Singer, the slayer of its' family. It had waited long for such an opportunity. Since the death of Singer's loyal dog by a distant relation, a demon, it found it could stay on Singer's property with ease. The house was too well protected to enter and Singer rarely left its confines after dark, but it was patient. It could wait. So it waited. And it watched.

Singer drank from one of his brown bottles, a common sight. One of the men did, too. But the tall one held something else, something unfamiliar. It waited, hoping for the sun to sink lower quickly so it might see better. The tall one moved into some shadows, which was an improvement. The tall one held out a doll of some sort. It went rigid. Had it been spotted? Did Singer know of it? Were these two men experts in the magics?

The tall one held the doll at arm's length, sailing it through the air.

"Sammy! Batman can't fly." The man drinking the brown bottle laughed.

"He can when he's in his plane!" The tall one shot back.

Not working magics, then. Were they toying with it? Trying to draw it out? It would have to wait, watch, and listen. It was patient. It could wait. It would watch until the men returned to the house, and then it would hunt its dinner. Dinner would be eaten raw, as was seemly. The manners of men disgusted it.


	7. Chapter 7

Don't expect Ch8 before Monday. I'm still working on it, and _**hotshow**_ had to bless it before I'll post. Hope you enjoy!! **Big** **thanks **again to everyone following this, especially with the alerts down.

**Chapter 7**

As it turned out Bobby did receive the all-cartoon channel, much to their collective astonishment and relief. Sam sunk to the floor in front of the small set, head inches from the screen with his Batman in his lap.

Dean accepted another beer from Bobby, sinking into the aged couch. He started to do something he had not allowed himself in some time. He started to relax.

"So Dean," Bobby's voice was barely a whisper, "how's he really doing?" A beer bottle waved in Sam's direction.

Dean shook his head, took another swig. "No idea. The doctors are frigging clueless, and useless." He sighed, rubbing a hand through his short hair. "He remembered that, though." Dean pointed at the ceiling in the next room. "He won't go under it."

Bobby nodded, looking thoughtful. "Maybe traumatic experiences come back first."

Dean shrugged, unwilling to broach that topic. With everything they had been through in the past two years, traumatic pretty much summed it up.

"Must have been a cute kid," Bobby said, but his eyes were trained on Dean.

Dean stared back. "What?" He set his beer down. What was Bobby after?

"How are you doing with all this?" Bobby's head jerked towards Sam.

"What the hell do you mean?" Dean demanded. They might be leaving Bobby's sooner than he planned. Like in five minutes.

"Calm down, Dean. I know this has got to be hard for you." Bobby sighed, took another swig of his beer. "I know if I had a brother, or hell, a friend I was half as close to as you are to Sam, this would be…" Bobby frowned and his brows drew together, which was hard to tell through the hair sticking out from under that damned ballcap. "Well, it would be damn near impossible."

Dean glared at Bobby, someone who up until a few seconds ago he had considered a good friend. "We'll manage," he hissed, standing. As he turned to yell for Sam, Bobby jumped in his way.

"Dean, don't." Bobby's voice had that tone to it, the one that sounded so damn much like Dad. "Do me a favor. Hell, do yourself a favor. At least stay the night before you storm off in a huff." Bobby's stern face cracked into a smile. "You know, your daddy told me something about you once that I never really understood until this second."

Torn between his desire to run from scrutiny and curiosity about what his father said about him, Dean cast a look toward Sam. His brother was peaceably watching something animated. Apparently it did not matter what the show was, only that it was animated.

"Fine," Dean growled, retaking his seat and snagging his beer. He glowered at Bobby for a good couple of minutes before his curiosity won. "All right. What did Dad say?"

"About what?" Bobby asked innocently.

"Bobby, I swear, if you…"

Bobby held up both hands. "Just kidding, Dean, just kidding." He downed the rest of his beer. If Bobby needed alcohol to do this, it could not be good. Dean figured it couldn't be worse than anything else in the past few days, so he waited.

"Your daddy told me once that the Dean Winchester priority list only had three things on it. Numbers one and two were Sam and Dad, not that one outranked the other, and number three was the hunt. Your own health and wellbeing didn't even make the list."

Dean frowned at that. Not that it wasn't true, but he was surprised that Dad even noticed. "Why did he tell you that?"

"You remember that last hunt the three of us went on? Right after Sam left for college?" Dean nodded. "Afterwards, your daddy backed you into a corner, made you strip down and checked you all over for injuries. Remember that?"

Dean chuckled. "Just because the damn thing knocked me down," he said, shaking his head.

"Knocked you down?" Bobby stared at him for a moment. "Dean, the damn thing must have knocked you twenty feet into a tree! I was shocked you were conscious, much less that you got up and helped out afterwards."

Dean snorted. "Helped out? Dude, I so took that sucker down." He shrugged. "Well, you know, I helped Dad take it down anyway."

"Uh-huh. Anyway, after he finished checking you over and ordering you to bed for the night, I cornered him in the kitchen over a beer. My intention was to rake him over the coals for the way he treated you." Bobby looked around, but all the beer bottles next to him were empty.

Dean scoffed. "Yeah, bet that went over well."

Bobby's head tilted to the side, reminding Dean of the way Sam used to look at him when his brother thought he was lying. It was an evaluating gaze. Dean wondered if he passed.

"Not really." Bobby shook his head. "John explained, in no uncertain terms, that I was not to interfere in his family. He then went on to tell me how you've been known to carry an injury like cracked ribs and torn muscles without complaint, and that the only way he could know for sure you weren't hurt was to check for himself. I had a hard time buying that." Bobby picked up one of his empty bottles, stared down into it with a frown. "That was when he told me about the Dean Winchester Priority List and the John Winchester Priority List."

Dean leaned back, taking another swig of beer. This conversation was turning into something interesting after all. "And what was the John Winchester Priority List?"

Bobby smiled sadly at him. "I'm guessing you already know number one?"

"Find the demon that killed Mom," Dean answered without thinking.

"Yep. Number two was the welfare of his sons, and number three was to always check Dean for injuries after a hunt, because you hid them so damn well."

"Wait a minute." Dean's beer clattered on the table surface. "Checking me for injuries was an actual number on his frigging priority list?"

"Yep. I need another beer." Bobby disappeared into the kitchen. By the time he came back Dean had been able to make sense of it.

"I get it," he said, exchanging his now empty bottle for the full one Bobby offered. "Dad had to make sure I was in top shape for the next hunt. Makes sense."

Bobby ran a hand over his face, shaking his head. "Dean, he cared about you. Both of you."

"I know that!" Dean snapped, irritated at being drawn into some chick-flick crap.

"You Winchesters sure are a stubborn bunch." Bobby collapsed into an ancient armchair next to the couch. "You know that?"

Dean grinned despite himself, leaning back into the couch again. At least Bobby can take a hint.

"You are planning to stay? At least for a little while." Bobby pressed.

"Yeah, I guess." Dean gave him a shrug. "Got any work around here? I'm going to go out of my gourd with nothing to do."

Bobby smiled. "I was hoping you'd ask that."

-----------

Its dinner complete, it returned to the salvage yard. It prowled through the rusting hulks of machinery humans used, sniffing and learning. The two men smelled familiar. They must have come to Singer before, so perhaps they could be used to punish Singer. The men may important to its enemy. It began to make plans. Its revenge was possible now. It smiled, its sharp white teeth gleaming in the dim moonlight.

-----------

Sammy turned away from the television. Dean was not on the couch. A flutter of panic rose in his chest. "Dean?"

"He just went to the john, Sam," a deep voice answered.

Sammy spun around. It was that man called Bobby, the one Dean said was Dad's friend. Sammy chewed on his lower lip, wondering if he should ask. "Bobby?" He stood, clutching Batman to his chest again.

"Yeah, Sam? What can I do for ya?" Bobby looked up at him, waiting.

Sammy wondered if Dean would be mad, but he needed to know. "Do you know if something happened to our dad?" he asked softly, hoping Dean would not hear him. Dean had really good hearing.

Bobby's eyes darted away, toward the bathroom. So that's where Dean was. And that's what a john was! But wasn't Dad's name John, too? "Dad wasn't named after the toilet, was he?" Sam asked, still looking toward the bathroom.

Bobby laughed, a deep, comforting laugh that felt familiar. Sam cocked his head at the old man, an image flickering in his mind of Bobby talking to him somewhere else and a feeling of relief. Sam decided that maybe Bobby was not scary after all.

"Well, Sam, some people might agree with that, but I wouldn't. Your daddy was a good man." Bobby smiled at him.

Was? Did Bobby say 'was'? "Was a good man?" Sammy asked. "What happened?"

"Don't worry about it, Sammy," Dean's voice cut through the moment, causing Sammy to spin around. When he stopped, the room kept spinning. Sammy watched it for a moment before he realized that his knees were not working right and his legs felt funny.

"Sammy!" Dean's voice pierced the spinning room, but Sammy still sunk to the floor. He felt Dean's hands grab him so he did not fall. His brother was always doing stuff like that, keeping Sammy from getting hurt. That was why Sammy did not like Dean to go away, for anything. He liked Dean to always be nearby, to catch him just like this.

When the room stopping spinning, Dean's blurry face hovered over him. "Sammy? You okay?" Dean sure was demanding, but that was okay. Dean watched out for him.

Sammy nodded, blinking hard to take some of the fuzziness away. Finally Dean's face cleared, looked normal. Sam grinned. "I'm okay now, Dean." He tried to stand, but Dean held him down.

"Just wait a minute, Sammy. Can you tell me what happened?"

Dean looked really worried. Sammy didn't like it when Dean was worried, that meant something was wrong. He shook his head. "The room went around and around and I got dizzy. Thanks for not letting me fall, Dean."

"Yeah. Whatever."

Dean sat on the floor next to him, rubbing his face. His brother did that when he was really, really worried. Sammy patted Dean's arm. "It's okay, Dean. You don't need to worry."

Dean looked at him, his eyes wide. "Sammy, I'm thinking about finding another doctor. One you like this time. What do you think?"

"Why, Dean?" Sammy leaned his head to one side to study his brother. Dean still looked worried.

"I don't like the way you keep falling down, Sammy." Dean's face had creases all over it, especially between his eyebrows. It would be funny if Dean didn't look so serious.

"Me either," Sammy told his big brother. "I'll go if you say so, Dean. You're my big brother. You always look out for me." Dean really was the best big brother.

Dean looked really sad now. "But Sammy, I told you, it's my fault."

Sammy shook his head. "No, Dean. It can't be your fault. You always, always look out for me." He kept shaking his head, hoping the room would behave this time. "No, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no..."

"Sammy!" Hands shook him. Sammy did not realize his eyes were closed until he opened them. When he opened his eyes, he was so close to Dean's face he could smell beer on his brother's breath. Dean's breathing was heavy, panting kind of like a dog. "Sammy?"

"You can't say that Dean. It isn't your fault." Sammy insisted, hoping Dean would finally understand.

"Okay, Sammy, okay." Dean sounded like he had been running or something. "Whatever you say, Sammy." Dean's hand patted his shoulder a few times. "Go watch tv or something."

"K, Dean." Sammy pushed himself off the floor. He noticed that his big brother jumped up first to watch him, make sure he didn't fall again. Sammy smiled, liking the fact he was the center of Dean's attention all the time. It made him feel good, special. As he settled down in front of Bobby's grainy, tiny tv set, Sammy knew he had to be special to have a big brother like Dean.

----------

"Dean?" Bobby's voice pulled Dean from his thoughts, from watching Sam's every move. That last collapse was unnerving, shook him to the core. "I know a few people in town. First thing in the morning I'll make some calls. We can probably get an appointment for Monday."

Dean raked a shaking hand through his hair. "God, I hope that's soon enough," he whispered. He felt something cold pressed into his palm.

"Nothing to do tonight, but drink a few beers," Bobby said, nodding toward the couch. "And tell a few lies."

Dean sat, his eyes glued to Sam.

"So, you're perfectly fine, right? None of this bothers you."

"Nope," Dean forced his shaking hand to lift the beer to his mouth in one steady motion. "Perfectly fine."

"Yep," Bobby nodded at him. "Me too." Bobby glanced over at Sam before looking at Dean again. "Any other lies we can tell tonight?"

"Well, you can tell me about your last date," Dean suggested, watching his brother out of the corner of his eye.

He heard Bobby choke on his beer. "Damn, boy, give me warning before you do something like that."

Dean chuckled, despite himself. He felt some of his tension ease, but he was determined not to let his guard down around Sammy. Not again.


	8. Chapter 8

Okay, you folks are amazing! I am completely overwhelmed by the number of people following this fic (and those of you kind enough to post a review) despite the lack of alerts. Thank you, thank you! Now that _**hotshow**_ has blessed this chapter, I am passing it on to you. Enjoy!!

(Oh, and yes – I fully intend to have this fic wrapped up well before June, barring any illness or massive life-changing circumstances. No idea how long it will actually be, though.)

**Chapter 8**

Dean sat in the waiting room, one knee bouncing nervously. There was every chance this doctor would turn them in and hand Sam over to that bitch, but he had to try to find out what was going on. Why was Sam so clumsy all the time? If it were getting better he would be inclined to ignore it, just chalk it up to what happens when you bruise your brain. But this was growing decidedly worse, and Dean was not sure how much more he could take.

Wasn't it bad enough that Sam thought he was a little kid? And there was a demon breathing down their necks? And Dad died? How much more shit could possibly be piled on?

"Dean?" Sam patted his knee. "You scared?"

Dean forced his face to smile. "Scared? Sammy, what would make you say that?"

"So you're not scared of the new doctor?" Sam asked. "I'll let you hold my Batman." He offered the toy.

Dean chuckled. What a sweet kid. How the hell did he and Dad wind up with such a sweet kid? "No, that's okay, Sammy. I'm good."

"Then why does your knee keep bouncing like that?" Sammy pointed at his leg.

Dean looked down at his bobbing knee. He put a hand out to stop it. "I'm just tired of waiting, Sammy. It's called impatience." Dean smiled smugly as he saw that Sam believed him.

"Oh, okay." Sam set Batman back in his own lap. "I think Batman's kinda nervous about the new doctor, though."

"Why is that?" Dean asked, his eyes sliding over to watch Sam.

Sam leaned over to whisper, "Batman thinks the new doctor might work for Catwoman."

"Oh," Dean figured Sam was worried about that bitch finding him. "In that case, we'll have to be really careful."

Sam nodded seriously, jumping when the nurse called, "Sam Cooper!"

"That's you," Dean whispered, standing. He felt Sam's hand grab the back of his shirt as they followed the nurse into an exam room. Who knew Bobby had the kind of connections to get a same-day appointment with a neurologist? He guessed Sam's little collapsing act scared Bobby even more than it did him, and that was saying something.

The exam room was painted a pale blue-green which Dean found oddly comforting, despite the fact he was certain no man would ever choose that color. There were several padded chairs in the room in addition to the exam table, so they sat in the chairs. Dean answered a few more questions for the nurse before she left.

"Well?" Sam demanded when they were alone.

"Well what, Sammy?" Dean raised an eyebrow at his brother.

"Does the doctor work for Catwoman?" he asked, his face very serious.

If Dean did not understand what Sammy meant, he might think it was funny. Or cute. "I don't know yet, Sammy. Let's at least meet the doctor first, okay?"

Sam chewed his bottom lip. "If you say so, Dean." But he hugged his Batman close to his chest.

Doctor Wayne appeared sometime within the next twenty minutes, interrupting Batman battling the evil Catwoman right after blowing up the Joker's lair. He was a younger doctor, maybe ten years older than Sam, with thin gold rimmed glasses and short, straight black hair. He smiled at them as he entered and immediately shook both their hands.

"So, why have you come to see me today? I understand Sam is having some problems?" He looked at Sam who pointedly looked at Dean.

"Well, he, uh," Dean raged an internal battle between telling the truth and creating a lie that would keep them out of Catwoman's clutches. With a groan, he made his decision. One way or another, he knew it was the right decision for Sam. If he had to take some risks to ensure Sam's health, he would. "His last doctor was this bitch Jefferies in the next state. We didn't care for her too much, so we left. He has amnesia and he's falling down a lot, like he's really clumsy. Only Sam has never been clumsy, and we need to know what the hell is going on."

"Jeffries?" Doctor Wayne peered through his spectacles. "Elizabeth Jeffries?"

Dean nodded as he heard Sam gasp. He could have sworn Sam whispered, "Not Catwoman!"

Doctor Wayne looked down at his file then back up at them. "I know Elizabeth lost a patient recently by the name of Mahogoff, with symptoms similar to the ones you are describing. How fortunate your last name is Cooper, so I don't need to report you." He smiled at Dean. "She may be a colleague, Mister Cooper, but I don't care for her too much either."

Dean let out the breath he had been holding. "So where do we go from here?" he asked.

Wayne took out a pad and started scribbling. "When you say Sam is clumsy, can you describe that? How clumsy? How often does this clumsiness occur?"

"Well, he might stumble over something, or trip getting into the car. Last night he actually fell down after just turning around." Dean wondered why the doctor was more concerned with the clumsiness than the amnesia. He had expected to need to put up more of a fight to get Sam the attention he was certain his little brother needed.

Doctor Wayne nodded, scribbling in Sam's file and then on the pad again. "Sam? Can you tell me how you feel when this happens?" The doctor's gaze shifted to Sam.

Sam shrugged. "I didn't remember tripping in the car. Dean told me. Last night I just got dizzy. I don't really like it, but it doesn't bother me. Dean, can we go now?" he pleaded.

Doctor Wayne stared at Sam for a long moment before shifting his attention back to Dean. "The amnesia. Any idea how much your brother has forgotten?"

Dean cleared his throat. "A lot."

"Can you be more specific?" the doctor insisted.

Dean motioned for the pen and paper. Wayne handed them over and Dean wrote 'He thinks he is 5' while shielding it from Sam, who kept trying to look over his shoulder. Persistent bastard. He handed the paper and pen back. The doctor read the note carefully, his face giving nothing away.

"Just based on your descriptions, I'd guess that the dizziness and clumsiness are the results of mild strokes. I've seen similar symptoms in women who smoke and are on birth control. Of course, we would need to run a few tests to verify this and see if there is any real damage from them. And no," Wayne held up a hand as Dean opened his mouth, "I have no idea what would be causing strokes at this point, although I am certain it must be related to the same head trauma causing the amnesia.

"Now, our hospital, which is right next door, does these tests on weekends. I will be covering for the attending tomorrow, so I would like to do the tests in the morning. If that is all right with you two?" He searched their faces.

Stunned, Dean could only nod. In just a few minutes, this man had earned more trust and respect from him than Jeffries had in days. What a bitch! He turned to look at his brother. "Sound good, Sammy?"

"What's your name again?" Sam asked.

"I am Doctor Wayne."

Sam grinned. "That means you can't like Catwoman. Okay, Dean. He can be the doctor." He nodded at Dean.

Dean had to think about that one. Doctor Wayne can't like Catwoman? Then he wanted to slap himself in the forehead. He wondered if Bobby picked this guy because he was the only neurologist in town, he had a good reputation, or because of the man's damn name. Tonight he and Bobby were having another long talk.

"We, uh, don't have insurance," Dean said. "But I am starting a job next week, if you're willing to work out a payment plan."

Doctor Wayne smiled. "We can make arrangements through the hospital based on your income. I consider myself in debt to Mister Singer for taking care of ahem a problem. It's the very least I can do."

Dean nodded seriously. "Understood. Really appreciate this, doc." He stood and shook Wayne's hand again. He hated having to accept any type of charity, but this was for Sammy. Besides, working out a payment plan had to be better than insurance scams or credit card fraud. Sam would approve.

After getting instructions and directions from the front desk, Dean turned to his brother. "Ready to head back now, Sammy?"

Sammy shook his head. "Can we eat first?"

"Sure. Why not?" Dean headed out the door, glancing back periodically to be sure Sammy was behind him. When they reached the elevator, he felt a hand wind into the back of his shirt. At least he did not have to wonder if Sammy was with him like that. When they reached the parking lot, he felt the pull on his shirt. Desperately trying not to sigh, Dean held out his hand. Sam's hand grabbed his and they walked to the Impala.

After unlocking Sam's door and making sure his brother was safely inside, Dean slid in behind the wheel. "Sammy, how about we hit a place I like?"

"You don't like the places I like, Dean?" Sammy asked, sounding hurt.

Dean cleared his throat. "I just meant, I'd like to go to a place where we can raise a little cash. That's all."

"Oh." Sam was silent until they reached the bar and grill Dean spotted on the way in. "How can you get money here, Dean?"

Dean cut the motor before answering. "A couple of games of pool, Sammy." He turned to face his brother. "You remember Dad playing pool for money?"

Sammy nodded, holding Batman closer. Dean wondered if taking the toy inside was such a good idea. He could see it causing a fight later on, but maybe if they left before dark…

"Good. When I lose, don't say anything, okay? It's all part of the game," Dean explained.

Sammy nodded again. "I don't like it when Dad does that. Sometimes there are fights."

Dean maintained eye contact. "If a fight starts, I want you to get out of there and wait for me by the car. Okay? Sammy? Got that?"

Fingers lifted to Sam's mouth and he chewed on his cuticle. Dean waited for an acknowledgement. When he did not get one, he tried again. "You hear me, Sammy? If a fight starts I want you to come out here."

He chewed his cuticle and gave a quick nod. The brief shake of shaggy brown hair would have to satisfy him, Dean guessed. "Let's go."

Dean figured they needed to eat first, just in case his pool hustling required a quick exit. The burgers were decent, even if he did have trouble convincing Sam french fries were vegetables because they were made from potatoes. Sam insisted on something with veggies, since he was growing so well. The place did not have a vegetable plate, which did not surprise Dean, but there was a side available of grilled veggies so Sam would have to be happy with that.

Dean watched the pool tables while they ate, evaluating and judging the players he saw. He chose his target before the bill arrived. After they paid for the meal and Dean ordered a beer, strictly for show during the game, he motioned for Sammy to follow. They walked over to the pool tables and hung back to watch Dean's target finish off his opponent.

"Dean?" Sammy whispered in his ear. "Does that man want my toy?"

Dean spun around. A man who looked like he bench pressed pickup trucks and tortured puppies for fun stared at Sam with a look of disgust on his face. This did not look good. Dean debated between facing down the asshole making Sammy uncomfortable or hustling pool. Either was just as likely to start a fight, especially with Sam carrying a kid toy around everywhere. Dean chose to hustle, because they might need the money tomorrow at the hospital.

"Don't worry about it Sammy. Just sit over there." Dean pointed out a bar stool behind the pool table against the wall. "Dude," he smiled at his target, "ready for a real game?"

After Dean lost the first game, he noticed Sam looked worried. While his opponent racked, Dean sauntered over to nudge Sammy's shoulder. He winked at his little brother. "How's Batman?"

Sammy shrugged. "Robin's worried about him."

"Yeah? Why?" Dean cast an eye around the place. Things appeared quiet enough, but that guy was still staring at Sammy. It sent a cold chill down his spine.

Sammy leaned over to whisper, "He's thinks maybe Batman is in danger."

"One more game, Sammy," Dean whispered. "Then we can go."

He knew the hundred dollars over his initial investment that was riding on this game would not go far to cover any hospital bills, but at least his wallet would not be empty. With one eye on Sam, Dean proceeded to take the next game easily. He took his money off the corner of the table and jerked his head at Sam. Sammy leapt up to follow.

As Dean approached the door, his stomach dropped. Tall, dark and psycho blocked their way.


	9. Chapter 9

Well, now that I have been thoroughly chastised for leaving the last chapter as a cliff-hanger…I did it again! Just not as bad. Not to worry, next chapter should post tomorrow. Thanks again to **_hotshow _**for her diligence in proofing this story and keeping me on track and on task. And a HUGE thanks to everyone still following this story despite the lack of alerts!

**Chapter 9**

Dean squared his shoulders, assessing the new threat. Ugly was about Dean's height, but most likely carried an extra fifty or so pounds and Dean guessed it was not all in that beer gut. He reached back to give Sam a gentle shove back, to put him out of Ugly's reach.

"Dude, you got a problem?" he demanded, eyes narrowing.

"What's with the toy?" Ugly asked, sneering.

That alone would normally be enough for Dean to lay into this guy, pummel him into next week. Not with Sammy standing right behind him. "What do you care?" Dean snapped, feeling his chest expand in an attempt to look slightly more intimidating.

Ugly looked from Dean to Sam and back. "What's he to you?"

Dean ground his teeth, biting back the nasty retorts his brain kept sending to his mouth. "He's my brother. Want to make something of it?" He took a step forward.

"Dean? Please don't hurt him too bad. Remember what happened last time?" Sam's voice floated from over his shoulder.

"Shut up, Sam," Dean snapped, but he could not help wondering where the hell that came from. What last time? Had Sam remembered something?

"But Dean, that guy didn't wake up for three days!" Sam's foot stomped the floor. "They were gonna arrest you and everything! I don't want you to go back to jail." Sam's voice took on a distinctive whine.

Now, Dean had absolutely no memory of anything like that happening, ever. He could only assume Sammy was making all of this up. He chanced a glance over his shoulder. "What part of shut up don't you get?" he growled, winking at Sammy. He could not have Sammy thinking he didn't get it.

"Dean," the whine was louder now, "Dad said you had to look out for me. How can you do that in jail?"

Dean watched Ugly closely. The guy might be buying Sam's story, he was not sure yet. "We'll just be sure to leave before the cops show up this time, Sammy."

Sam's distinctive huff nearly brought a smile to Dean's face. "Then shoot him. Get it over with."

Okay, now that was taking it a little far. Dean stepped to the side so he could regard Sammy and Ugly at the same time. "You want me to shoot him, Sammy? Really?"

Ugly's eyes widened at that. Apparently Ugly was not packing. Dean had to bite the inside of his cheek not to laugh at the confusion raging over Ugly's face.

"No, I just want to leave, Dean." Sammy said, glaring at Ugly. "If the short guy will get out of our way."

Okay, that was too much. Dean had to chuckle over that one. "You heard my little brother. Move." He jerked his head to the side.

Ugly looked between them one more time before stepping away. Dean motioned for Sammy to head for the door, refusing to turn his back on Ugly. Out of the corner of his eye, Dean saw Sammy go through the front door. Relieved, he turned to follow and ran smack into a barrel chest he had not noticed before. Shit.

--------

Sammy waited just outside for his big brother. What was taking Dean so long? Dean would want him to wait by the car. Sammy looked down at the Batman dangling from his hand. He lifted it to his face.

"You'd want Robin to wait by the car, right?" He asked, imagining that Batman sneered at him and nodded. "But would Robin do that?" He could see Batman's green eyes roll, just like Dean's did. Yeah, that was what he thought.

Sammy pulled open the door. Dean stood between the mean man who asked about his Batman and another guy who was even bigger. The bigger man rubbed his jaw and looked really mad at Dean. The mean man's face was really red around one eye. Sammy wondered if it was swelling. His brother had a hell of a right hook.

Dean pointed to the bigger man. "I'm going to kick your ass first," his finger swung around to the mean man, "then yours."

Sammy groaned to himself. He had tried to warn the mean man. Some people just wouldn't listen. Sammy propped the door open, leaning in the doorway to watch. The bigger man lunged at Dean, but Dean ducked the blow and sent him soaring into the mean guy. While the two tried to untangle themselves from each other, Dean grabbed the bigger man by the collar and landed two hard blows to the jaw. Sammy winced as the man slumped down, unconscious. That was going to really hurt later, he was sure.

Dean stepped back, glowering at the mean man. The mean man wriggled out from under the bigger dude and faced off against Dean. Sammy knew the only things going through his brother's mind right now were if he should draw this out and make mean man suffer, or end it quick and get the hell out. Sammy hoped for the last one. He was serious about not wanting Dean arrested.

The mean man circled his brother, looking for signs of weakness. Sammy knew the man would only find one if Dean faked something. Dean circled too, waiting for his opening. Sammy wondered what would happen if he threw Batman at the mean man's head, but he didn't want his only toy broken so he waited. Then his eyes met Dean's. Dean frowned at him. He was supposed to be at the car, he knew. Sammy hugged Batman to him as the mean man lashed out at his brother. Dean barely dodged it in time, but he grabbed the mean man by the arm and rammed him, head first, into the bar. Sammy shook his head as Dean twisted the mean man's arm until he cried out.

"Nobody – picks – on," Dean used more pressure and the man's face twisted, making Sammy look away, "my – brother!"

Sammy smiled to the doorjamb at that. Dean was the best big brother in the whole world. He heard the sounds of someone being hit, but Sammy did not look over. He knew who was doing the hitting. Soon he felt a hand on his arm.

"Let's go, Sammy."

Sammy walked along with his brother, trying not to skip because that annoyed Dean.

"Didn't I tell you to wait at the car?" Dean demanded as he opened Sammy's door.

"Yes, Dean," he said, still smiling. Sammy slid into his seat and closed the door while Dean walked around to the other side. "Dean?"

"What?" Dean sat behind the wheel and slammed the keys into their spot. His brother sounded pretty annoyed. Must be because he did not wait at the car like he was supposed to.

"Thanks."

Dean looked at him, confused. "For what? Starting a fight?"

Sammy shook his head. "For sticking up for me. I'm glad you're my big brother, Dean."

Dean snorted, starting the car. Sammy watched out the window while Dean drove. "Sammy?"

"What?" Sammy turned to look at his brother.

"That, uh, that was a pretty good story you came up with back there." Dean made a funny noise in his throat, like he needed to cough but it wouldn't come out.

"Thanks, Dean." Sammy shook his head. "He really should have listened to me." Sammy could not help rubbing his jaw. There was an ache there, like someone had hit him, too. Or like he knew what those two men would feel like later. But Dean had never hit him. Right?

A quick laugh shot out of Dean. "Yeah, guess so."

-----------

Dean shot a look at his brother as he made the next corner. Sam looked fine, but looks could be deceiving. Strokes. His brother had been suffering from strokes and that bitch of a doctor never told him. He wondered if she had even figured it out.

His knuckles ached from that quick brawl, but at the same time it felt good. Their lives were supposed to be filled with fighting and hustling and things like that. He rolled his shoulders, feeling most of the tension there was gone. Dean wondered if Sam would mind staying with Bobby occasionally so he could go out and pick a fight sometime. Probably, if Sammy ever figured out what he was up to.

Then there was the issue of periodic female companionship. Well, at least for a couple of hours. What could he do with Sammy? He could always go without, or settle for the really slutty gals who liked it in storerooms and back alleys. Still, that would put him away from Sam a little longer than was safe. Hell, he felt guilty leaving Sam alone long enough to empty his damn bladder. He sighed, figuring even the quickies would have to take a backseat to looking after Sammy. Not that it would be the first time. Besides, it was just until Sam was better.

He noticed his bruised knuckles were white against the steering wheel. Dean took a deep breath, forcing away his anxiety. Sam would get better, he told himself. His brother had to.

He turned down the road toward Bobby's. But what if Sam never got better? What if this was as good as it was going to get? Dean stared at the road as if his answers were embedded between the yellow stripes and white dashed lines. He wished Dad were here.

"Dean?"

He nearly jumped at the sound of Sam's voice. Sammy had been so quiet on the drive back, Dean assumed his brother had fallen asleep or something.

"What, Sammy?"

"You look sad. Were you thinking about Dad?"

"Yeah," he answered before realizing what he said, what he just admitted. Dean tried to keep a blank face to prevent anything else from slipping out.

Sammy did not say anything else until Dean stopped the car by Bobby's house. As he turned to open his door, he felt Sam's hand on his arm, holding him back. "Dean?"

Dean took a deep breath, turned around to look in his brother's worried face.

"What happened, Dean? Where is Dad?"

Dean shook his head. It may have happened months ago, but he never really did deal with it, short of beating the crap out of his car. If he had to recount the events, he was not sure he could keep it together.

"Dad's not coming." Sammy said, still holding his gaze. Dean shook his head again. "Can Dad come?"

Dean sighed. His brother was like one of those obnoxious little terrier dogs – constantly yipping and refusing to give anything up. "No." The word was barely a whisper, but it hung between them, filled with meaning and unspoken pain. He felt the hand on his arm tighten and saw the tears spring to Sammy's eyes.

"Did I do it?" Sammy whispered. "Was it my fault? Is that why you won't tell me?"

Dean felt his eyes widen and his mouth drop at that. Where the hell did Sam come up with this freaky logic? "No, Sam. It wasn't your fault." His voice sounded stronger than he felt, so he continued. "It was a car wreck."

He hoped there would be no need for more details. Dean doubted he could tell his brother that Dad died to save him, that Dad made a deal with that damned demon. Not without either lots of hard liquor handy or something to pound on. Or both. Both sounded the most appealing.

Sammy chewed his bottom lip, watching Dean closely like he might be lying. He wasn't, well, not really. Dean waited patiently, something he knew he was going to need to practice a lot now. Patience never had been his strong suit, even where Sammy was concerned. It would have to be now.

Sammy finally let go of his arm. "Okay, Dean."

As he watched his brother climb out, Dean was overcome with the sense that he just let his brother down, but he had no idea how or why. He tried to shake it off, ignore it as they entered Bobby's, but it would not go away. He caught Sam watching him, an odd look on his brother's face, for the rest of the day. It bordered on downright creepy.

-------------

It woke quickly, as it always did. But the dreaded sun was still high in the sky. Why did it wake? It squinted in the brightness of daytime, hissing its displeasure. Then it saw what woke it.

The tall one who carried a doll banged on the remains of a car, shouting something. It peered out from its hiding place, high atop the mounds of rusting machines. Even Singer never thought to search here. It pricked its ears forward, straining to hear over the sounds of machinery next door and Singer's pounding from nearby in the yard.

It could do nothing to the tall one in the daytime, it could barely see. But it could learn and it could listen.

"Pow! Take that Joker! You stupid, evil clown." More banging on the car. "Oh, Catwoman, you here, too? Then take that! And that!" The tall one danced his doll over the side of the decrepit hulk. "And that's for all those stupid tests! And that's for making my brother mad! Pow, pow!"

"Ow!" The tall one howled, hurting its ears. It hissed again in pain, wondering what caused such noise from the tall one. It squinted below, but it was not its eyes that told it what must have happened, it was its nose. The fresh scent of blood wafted upward, making its mouth water. Perhaps it should hunt early tonight.

"Dean!" The tall one rushed to the house. It saw something dark on the ground below. The doll? It did not want to give away its presence, but the opportunity was too fortuitous to pass. It leapt to the ground, grasping the doll in its paws. Claws were unnecessary. Then it made a great jump landing halfway up to its hiding place. A second jump put it back where it began. Ironic that Singer provided it a home, since the man destroyed all it once had. It turned the doll over in its paws, marveling at the fact it now had bait for the tall one. Singer was going to pay. Of that, it was certain.


	10. Chapter 10

I know I promised this yesterday, but it needed some editing. _**Hotshow**_ and I have been developing IT, and I think IT is turning out quite well. No big cliffie this time, though I was tempted to end the chapter where Dean is cussing about Batman (you'll see what I mean). Hey – trying to be nice here!! grin

**Chapter 10**

Its plan was simple. It would hunt early, when darkness first fell. Then it would wait for the tall one to search for the missing doll. It smiled to itself, ran a long red tongue over its sharp, pointed teeth. Perhaps it should not hunt early tonight. Perhaps it should wait. The tall one would make several good meals.

It waited.

The black car, the only thing here without the traditional claims of Singer rust and decay, returned. It could no longer smell fresh blood, so it assumed the men left to care for the tall one's wound. It smiled. Such primitive creatures, so dependent on machines, it was a wonder that so many of their kind thrived in the world. This world where its ancestors once hunted humans, a favored prey, a delicacy. It was this delicacy that earned its family the attention of Bobby Singer, the murderer.

It listened as the men walked toward the house. They did not sound happy. So much the better for it and its plans.

-----------

"Come on, Sammy," Dean held the door open, motioning impatiently. What little patience he did have had been blown away hours ago.

"But Dean!" Sammy stomped his foot on the front porch. "I need to find Batman! He's out there battling the Joker and Catwoman all alone!"

Dean could not fight back the snarl that crawled over his face. "I'll look for the damn thing, Sam. Now get inside!"

Sammy glared at him as his brother stomped past. It was all Dean could do not to smack his brother in the back of the head. What a trying little shit he could be! Okay, maybe not little. Huge shit! What a freaking HUGE shit he was!

"Dean," Bobby's deep voice was a little too calm.

"What?" Dean snapped. If one more person told him to calm down, he was going to beat the crap out of somebody. Or something. Whatever.

"You want to head back to town?" Bobby jerked his head toward the entrance. "I can keep an eye on Sam for a couple of hours."

Dean stared at Bobby, unable to believe he heard what he just heard. "What?"

"You look like you need to blow off some steam. It's been a hell of a day, and tomorrow probably won't be much better. Why don't you just take off for a while? Get your head together?" Bobby stood near the door, just looking at him. Dean searched the man's face for disgust or disdain, but there was none.

He stood there, looking back for a long time. "I need to look for Batman." Dean headed out into the salvage yard before it got too dark to see. He heard the door slam behind Bobby. Fortunately Bobby was not easily insulted, Dad had always needed to work extra hard to do that. The thought of Bobby chasing off Dad with a loaded shotgun brought a smile to his face as his eyes darted over the ground.

Dean walked through the salvage yard twice, but there was no sign of Batman. He sighed, stopping to watch the fading sun. Bright orange bands stretched across the sky, fading as the sun sunk slowly below the horizon. He sank down, resting against an abandoned heap to watch. The construction next door was done for the day and Bobby's place was closed. There was perfect silence. A moment all to himself. The thoughts battling for attention in his mind retreated to their respective dark corners, respecting his need for quiet.

Shuffling footsteps from behind intruded upon his silence. He felt the other man sit next to him, scoot closer until their shoulders touched. He was grateful Sam said nothing, respecting the peace. When the sun was out of sight leaving only lingering fingers of brightness low in the sky, Sammy nudged him.

"Hungry?" Sammy asked.

"Not really," Dean admitted.

"Bobby says we need to eat now, unless you're going out?" Sammy's voice was hushed, like he was afraid of breaking the spell of sunset. Dean had expected him to sound upset too, but he didn't.

"Nah," Dean replied, still unwilling to move from his spot. "I just needed a minute."

"Dean. I know it wasn't your fault." Sammy said, breaking the silence again.

Dean closed his eyes, knowing if he had kept a better eye on Sammy his brother never would have cut his hand. It was a silly thing for Sammy to say.

Sam's voice broke the silence again. "I remember it wasn't your fault, Dean."

Dean's eyes flew open and his head whipped to the side. "What? What do you remember?" He could not keep the demand or the excitement from his voice. It sounded like a shout in his own ears after the perfect silence of before.

Sammy swallowed hard, his eyes locking on the fading rays of sunlight. "I remember you were in the hospital and you wouldn't wake up. I was really scared. I think Dad was scared, too. I remember I was so mad at him until you woke up. Then he was gone." When Sammy turned to look at him again, tears streaked his face. "That's what happened, right?"

Shocked Dean nodded, turned back to look at the sky. A few stars were visible. He knew he would be able to see more if he just turned around, but he did not want to. There was one good thing he could see in all of this. There was no way five year old Sammy could ever turn evil. It was impossible. But that was the last memory he wanted his brother to recover, if ever.

He felt Sammy lean against him as more stars popped into view. Sammy's head touched his, the weight becoming heavier. Just as he was thinking that he had to carry both of them now, something strange happened. Sammy slid an arm around Dean's shoulders and pulled him close, in a weird half-hug kind of way, and just held him like that. Sammy held the weight for both of them, in the only way that he could. Dean felt his anxiety slip away and a new strength replace it. It was weird, but somehow this was exactly what he needed, more than a bar fight, more than some one nighter.

"Dean! Sam!" Bobby's voice finally broke that stillness, that silence.

Dean stood, helping Sammy up with him. "Feel like a beer?" he asked, only half-kidding.

"Yuck!" Sammy said, but his arm tightened over Dean's shoulders. "Dean, am I still allowed to play outside?"

"Don't ask me tonight, Sammy. Just don't ask tonight."

----------

Bobby innocently read through one of his many books as Dean eyed him, unsure how to broach the topic he wanted to discuss. Starting a serious discussion was not something that came naturally to Dean. He was far more comfortable with inane conversation in bars. Serious stuff was normally Sam's territory. _'I'm sorry, Sam is not available right now. Please call Dean with your request, and hold your breath while you're at it.'_

"Bobby?" he began, wondering exactly what the right words to use were.

"Yes." Bobby said, closing his book and looking dead-on at Dean.

"I was wondering if you…"

"I said yes," Bobby interrupted. "Anything else?"

Dean blinked several times, trying to understand if Bobby read his mind or was just that good at reading him. He actually preferred the first option. "Yes what?"

Bobby groaned, shoving the book aside. "Yes, I talked to Sam. Yes, I explained that sometimes even big brothers need to get away, have some alone time. Yes, I told Sam that you would be staying here for a while and that he would need to follow my rules, too. And yes, the offer of Sam-sitting while you blow off steam is good any time." Bobby glared at him. "Do we hug now?"

Dean half-snorted, half-chuckled. He had not known what exactly to expect of Bobby, but that was not it. "I appreciate it, Bobby, everything. But I really don't need-"

"Like hell," Bobby snapped. His voice dropped below a whisper. "You think looking after a full grown man who thinks he's five years old is going to be anything like raising a freaking five year old?" He leaned back, eyes stabbing. "Wake up and smell the finger paints, Dean." He jerked a thumb over his shoulder. "I bought some, by the way."

"Bobby, look, we can't accept-"

"Shut up, Dean." Bobby reached for a newspaper. He snapped it open. "First thing Monday morning, you are starting a total rebuild of a classic Chevy, older than yours, by the way, from the frame up. It's a mess, lots of rust. Good customer, too. He's willing to pay a fortune for a top notch job." Bobby peered at him momentarily over the paper. "It's worth good money, Dean. Don't screw it up." Bobby disappeared behind his paper.

"Sam!" Dean shouted from the couch. Sammy spun around from his spot in front of the television. "Go get ready for bed."

Sammy started to complain, but then an odd look crossed his face. "K, Dean." He snapped off the television before bounding upstairs.

Dean stood, staring at the paper Bobby hid behind. "I told Sam's doctor that I was starting a job on Monday. They're basing payments on my income."

"Tell 'em you make twenty five a year. They can call me if they need to check it." The paper did not move.

"I can hustle money for the payments," Dean said, starting to walk away.

The heavy sigh stopped him. He was not going to like this. "Damn it, Dean." The paper crumpled under Bobby's hands. "Boy, you just can't take a hint, can you?" Bobby glared at him. "This job ought to be enough to cover Sam's hospital bills. That's why I rustled it up for you." He shook his head. "Just as stubborn as John, I swear," he mumbled.

Dean hesitated, knowing Sammy waited for him upstairs for storytime. He stuffed his hands in his pockets, unsure of the emotions threatening to well up and overcome him. "I, uh, don't…" He swallowed hard, wondering what exactly he wanted to say here, but unable to stop himself. "I know this is what Sammy needs. But I just, I don't know how we could…how we will be able to…"

"You're doing all the work, Dean. You're going to earn every cent of that money." Bobby's stern face softened. "As for the other stuff," Bobby shrugged. "Let's just say that I don't mind you boys calling this place home." The crumpled paper was lifted up, a pitiful thing to hide behind. "Good night, Dean."

Stunned, Dean directed his steps upstairs. Had he called Bobby's home? He did not remember doing it. What had he said on the phone? Something about not having a home, he was pretty sure of that, then that he thought Bobby's place might be close enough. Shit. Dean rubbed a hand over his head, pausing at the top of the stairs. He had not meant to do that, to reveal that much. Hell, he did not want to admit that much to himself.

A fear of rejection surged through him. After all, that was normally what happened to him, wasn't it? Everyone either left or rejected him. Was Bobby only a matter of time? But Bobby helped out when Dad was taken. He took them in after Dad died and let Dean restore the Impala, no charge for parts found or tools broken. Lord knew he broke a few tools, windows, and a trunk lid. Bobby even trapped and exorcised Sam. Now here they were at Bobby's again, only this time it might be for the long haul, and Bobby seemed good with that. He knew Sam would tell him to accept it and move on, but it was Dean's nature to look gift horses in the mouth. This time, for Sam's sake, for Sammy's sake, he was just going to have to take it and use it, at least until Bobby decided enough was enough and kicked them out. Or…

"Sammy," Dean called out, "you brush your teeth?"

No answer. Dean looked in their room. The beds were untouched. Frowning, he checked the bathroom. Not only was it empty, but the sink and tub were dry. Sam did not get ready for bed like he was supposed to. A quick check of the other two bedrooms proved that the upstairs was void of any and all Sammys. "Sam!!" Dean bellowed at the top of his voice.

"Son of a bitch!" Dean flew down the stairs, knowing exactly where Sammy went. "He's outside," he yelled at Bobby as he ran past. "God damn Batman!"

------------

Its plan was working. The tall one searched in the dark for his doll. It smiled, pleased that the tall one could be separated from the others so easily. It did not wish to kill Singer, not until it could cause him pain first. The man responsible for destroying its family needed to feel the pain of loss. The other man, there was something about him that disturbed it, something it could not identify. It would have to watch and learn more to understand the other man.

The tall one walked through the salvage yard, his voice soft. "Batman? Where are you?" He moved quickly, head snapping from side to side. Was the tall one afraid of the dark? Oh, this night improved with each passing moment.

Grasping the doll tightly, it leapt down from its perch, causing barely a sound. But the tall one heard it anyway, spinning to face it. Now would be the moment of reckoning, the moment it struck fear into the hearts of its enemies. Now its revenge would begin.

The tall one's mouth flapped open and closed, unable to speak. It smiled in the way of men, prepared to rend flesh from bone.

"Lion-o?" The tall one spoke. He did not sound scared, or even angry. "Is that you?"

It paused. It had intended to shred the tall one's chest, to send a message to Singer. Perhaps take away enough for a delicious meal.

"Lion-o, you found Batman! Thank you, thank you!" The tall one approached it, showing no fear. Confused, it handed over the doll.

"You should watch where you leave your things," it said, studying the man standing before it. "Your doll could have been stolen."

"I'll be more careful, I promise." The tall one would not look away, staring at it until it began to feel uncomfortable. "Did you come here just to help find my Batman, Lion-o? Or did you come to help me?"

That was an interesting premise. It help a man? The tall one was either too simple or too naïve to understand what he faced. That would work in its favor. "To help you, of course," it purred, slinking down next an empty metal hulk. "What is your problem?"

The tall one groaned, rubbing a hand across his face. "I can't remember."

"You can not remember your problem? Then it must not be much of a problem." It purred deeply, imitating those foolish house-cats, hoping to lure him into feeling secure.

"No!" His foot stomped the ground. "That's my problem! I can't remember! I mean, I remember my name and my brother, but that's about it. I don't remember anything else." He kicked the wreckage it leaned against. "And it makes my brother sad that I can't remember. I'm letting him down."

The tall one looked at it, a small smile forming on his lips. "Can you help me remember?"

It had never heard of men having hope. That was a concept it had never imagined. But this one sounded hopeful. Could it use that? Could it raise this one's hopes and dash them away before ripping his throat out? Yes, it could toy with this one, play with him, and then take the first step in destroying Singer, the murderer, the slayer of hope. For years it had searched for a mate, but found nothing, no one. It might be the last of its kind; for it, there was no hope. To crush hope from its enemies, that would be a triumph.

"I can," it purred, showing its fangs in the man-smile.

"Great! What do I do first?" The tall one asked. He sounded excited. Could men have such emotions? What a surprising encounter this turned out to be. It was learning far more than it ever expected.

It needed to think of something the tall one would believe. How did one remember? "First, you must sit, with your eyes closed."

"Okay." The tall one sat, closed his eyes. This was too easy. Where was the fun, the thrill of the hunt? It examined its claws, wondering if it should use all or just one. This one would not require more than a single swipe across the throat. "Now what?"

"Think back," it crooned, purring deep. "Back to your earliest memory." Its tongue flicked out to caress its teeth, an involuntary action right before it fed.

"Sam! Sammy!"

It spun in the direction of men's voices. Surely they did not know of it?

"Rats," the tall one sighed, opening his eyes, spoiling the moment. "I have to go in now. I'm really gonna be in trouble now." His eyes widened. "Lion-o? I didn't know you had claws."

It lifted a paw, ready to kill this one before the other men arrived. As it swiped down, it discovered something else new. Men were capable of moving fast. Its arm was blocked by the tall one's arm. The tall one swiped at it then in the fashion of men, with a fist. It barely jumped away in time. Perhaps it underestimated this one.

Confused by the lack of fear and the quick reflexes, it leapt onto the car bodies. The sound of running men's feet greeted its ears as it scrambled away, choosing to live through the night and exact its revenge later. It would need to study these new men more, learn more, before it could act again. There was no one else to avenge its kind. It must be careful. Singer must die.


	11. Chapter 11

Hooray – the alerts are working!! It's a miracle!! Took me an hour and a half to answer all the reviews. Whew! Next chapter will not be up before Monday – sorry. I wasn't able to get ahead like I did last week. (Kim, Amy – harassing me about it won't do any good. Not that it will stop you, of course…)

_**Hotshow**_ has been a huge help and influence on this story, it would not be the same without her. Thanks, _**hotshow**_! And a **HUGE** thanks to everyone following this story. When _**hotshow**_ asked me to write a Limp!Sam fic – I really had no idea what a response it would get. At the time I thought – _eh, what the hell, I haven't done that yet_. Over 90 people have this story on alert now, and 28 have it in their favorites. This is a personal best here! Thanks to all of you!!

**Chapter 11**

"Sam!" Dean raced into the salvage yard, hoping Sammy did not hurt himself again. The regular dangers of a salvage yard were multiplied at night, and they already made one emergency room trip today. He imagined if they had to go back, someone reporting him to Child Services. Dean nearly stopped at the ridiculous thought, shaking his head as he searched for his brother. "Sammy!"

"Dean! Over here!" Sammy stepped out from behind a car carcass and waved.

Dean slowed down, trying to get his breathing under control. "Sam! What the hell are you doing out here?"

Sammy looked down, holding something against his chest. Dean squinted in the poor light. He pointed at Sam. "What do you have?"

Sammy held it out, walking slowly toward him. Was that Batman? "Where did you find that? I looked all over for it earlier."

Now that they were closer, Dean's eyes scanned Sammy up and down, looking for any signs of injuries. There was nothing obvious. "You okay?" he asked when Sammy still did not look up at him.

Sammy nodded, still looking down. "Lion-o found Batman."

Dean waited for Sammy to walk beside him back toward the house. A huffing and puffing Bobby headed their way from the far side of the house. "Found him!" Dean shouted, waving.

Bobby waved back then bent over, hands on knees, to catch his breath.

"Sammy, you can't just take off like that. Especially at night." Dean tried to stay calm, not to yell, scream, rant and rave. He could feel it welling inside him, but he was a master of ignoring emotions, pushing them deep down where he could pretend they didn't exist.

"Sorry Dean." Sammy's head hung dejectedly.

"Quit looking like a beaten dog," Dean gave his brother a playful shove. "Now, where was Batman?" He held open the door for Sam and Bobby. Bobby shot him a look that clearly said 'what did I tell you?' Dean shrugged in response. Really, what else could he do?

"I dunno. Lion-o had him." Sam mumbled, hugging Batman tight. "Do I still get a story?"

"Who is Lion-o?" Bobby asked, before Dean could answer Sam's question. He nearly answered for Sammy, but at the look of interest on Bobby's face made him refrain.

"From Thundercats. He's the leader." Sammy turned his head to the side, so he could look at them without raising his head. "Story?" he asked weakly.

"Did you see Lion-o?" Bobby pressed, taking a step forward. "Outside?"

Dean looked between Bobby and Sam. What the hell was this? Lion-o was just a frigging cartoon character. He was ready to jump in and shoo Sammy off to bed when Sammy nodded.

"Lion-o found Batman."

Wait a minute. How could a cartoon character find anything? Was this the same as Batman battling the Joker, or did Sammy really see something out there? That breathless anxiety gripped him again, squeezing the air from his lungs.

"Sit down, Sam," Bobby pointed to a chair.

Sammy sat on the edge of the chair, clearly expecting to be punished, his head hanging lower than Dean thought possible.

"Sam, can you tell me what Lion-o looks like?" Bobby asked, leaning over to see Sam's face.

"Like Lion-o!" Sammy shouted, head snapping up. If Dean thought he was out of patience, the expression on Bobby's face told him that the old man's reserves were tapped out as well.

"Sammy," at the reproach in his voice, Sammy's head dove down again.

"Sorry," Sammy mumbled.

"Sammy, Bobby never saw the Thundercats. Just tell him what the Lion-o who found Batman looked like." Dean stood beside Sammy's chair. With some hesitation, he put a hand on his brother's shoulder, squeezed gently.

Sammy looked up at him through those long bangs. Dean played with the idea of finally cutting Sammy's hair, but his brother's hair had always been long. It was supposed to be that way. If he cut it, maybe Sam would never remember who he was supposed to be.

"Tell him," Dean said softly, "so we can get to storytime."

Sammy's smile reached all the way to his eyes. "Lion-o was almost as big as me, had fur all over his body, kinda gold, and big hair." Sammy held his hands up behind his head, demonstrating how big Lion-o's hair was. It sounded just like the frigging cartoon.

"What color was the hair?" Bobby asked, leaning closer to Sammy.

Dean had no idea what the frigging hell was going on here, but he was damn sure Bobby's interest was more than casual and that alone scared the crap out of him.

"Kinda brown," Sammy said, frowning, "but in the cartoon it's more orange. And Lion-o had really big claws. He's not supposed to have claws." Sammy's head shook, scattering brown locks around.

"Claws?" Dean asked, jumping in this stupid conversation. "It had claws? Did it try to hurt you?" If Bobby was so freaking interested then whatever Sam-might-have-seen-if-he-wasn't-just-imagining-it could well be dangerous.

Sam scratched his head. "I'm not sure."

His heart skipped a beat. "What do you mean, you're not sure?"

Sammy's face scrunched up. "Well, he was trying to help me…" his voice trailed off.

"Help you? By finding Batman?" Dean asked before Bobby could open his mouth again.

"After that. I asked him to help me…" Sammy's head dropped down again as his voice trailed off.

Dean wanted to yell, scream at Sam to finish the damn sentence, but that look on Bobby's face stopped him cold. He held on to Sam's shoulder, trying to find that peace and strength they shared earlier. When he finally found his voice, it was calm. "What did you ask, Sam?"

"To help me remember," Sammy squeaked out.

Dean felt like smashing his head into the wall, both hands, and then throwing himself in front of a truck. Shit! Sammy felt so desperate to remember he was willing to ask for help from a goddamn cartoon character? Dean used his free hand to cradle his face. When did he turn into such a monster?

"Sammy," he sighed, gripping his brother's shoulder. "Come on, let's get ready for bed."

He saw Bobby's mouth open. "Do you think we're in any danger inside the house?" Dean asked, before Bobby could say anything else. When Bobby shook his head, Dean added, "Then any other questions you have can wait until morning. Good night, Bobby."

"Night, boys."

Dean kept a tight hand on Sammy all the way upstairs, not releasing him until they reached the bathroom. He stood outside the door, listening as Sammy took his bath and brushed his teeth. Too much happened today, from strokes to the ER to disappearing acts to living breathing cartoon characters. Dean was having trouble just letting Sam – no, Sammy – out of his sight this long. He could not breathe properly until Sam stepped out, hair dripping onto the clean t-shirt, still looking like a guilty dog.

"Where's your towel?" Dean asked, holding out his hand. Sammy reached back and grabbed the wet towel off the floor. Dean chose not to say anything about that. Really, what was the point? He took the wet towel and motioned for Sammy to lean down. He rubbed the towel over Sammy's hair until it didn't drip quite as much as it did before, then tossed it into the hamper.

"Come on." A gentle shove was all it took to get Sammy to go to bed. Dean decided he would shower in the morning. Might as well enjoy putting it off while he could, starting Monday he was going to be a sweaty mess pretty much all the time. After a quick trip to the bathroom, Dean joined Sammy in the bedroom.

"I have a new story for you tonight, Sammy," Dean said as he kicked his boots off.

"I…I still get a story?" Sammy asked, the sheets pulled right up to his eyes.

"Yep. This one is about Batman, when Robin first came to live with him." Dean settled onto the bed, wondering if Bobby had any extra pillows. It would be nice to have a couple to prop himself up during storytime.

"You mean Bruce Wayne and Dick Grayson," Sammy corrected him, just before ducking back under the sheet.

"Right. Bruce and Dick." Dean rolled his eyes at the ceiling, mind racing ahead to create the story he needed to tell. "Well, you know Dick was a kid when he came to live with Bruce, and it was hard for him to adjust to living with someone other than his parents. Bruce tried to be patient, but some days it was too much."

"Really?" Sammy asked from under the sheet.

"Yep. One day Bruce was in a really bad mood. Dick broke a window, put a dent in the limo, and a hole in the wall, all before lunch."

Sammy giggled. "I'm never that bad."

Dean refrained from commenting. "Bruce was so mad, Dick was afraid he would be sent away, that Bruce didn't want him to live there anymore. So Dick decided he would run away first, before Bruce could kick him out. He got some clothes, put them in a bag, and grabbed some bananas and stuff from the kitchen as he sneaked out." Dean paused, but Sammy did not say anything. "When the house got real quiet, Bruce wondered what Dick was up to now. He thought Dick was causing more trouble, so he searched the whole house. No Dick. Then Bruce noticed some of Dick's clothes were missing, and because Bruce is really Batman, he also noticed that the bananas were missing from the kitchen."

"Batman is really good at that," Sammy mumbled.

Dean glanced over. Sammy's eyes were trained on him. Dean returned his attention to the ceiling. "So Bruce went looking for Dick. He searched the whole neighborhood, but by then Dick had been gone for over an hour so he had a good head start. Bruce realized he was never going to find Dick unless he became Batman. Even though it was still daylight out, Bruce went to the Batcave and changed into Batman. Then he took the Batmobile and went out searching for Dick."

"Was he mad?" Sammy's voice had that squeaky quality to it again.

"You bet he was mad. He wanted to ground Dick for the rest of his life, lock him in a room and throw away the key. You know why?" Dean turned to look at Sammy.

"Because he was bad." Sammy nodded, pulling the sheets right up to his eyes.

"No. Because Batman, Bruce, was so worried. He was scared that something really bad had happened to Dick, and if it did it would be all his fault. He would never, ever, be able to forgive himself. Then he spotted a boy jumping out of an alley to look at the Batmobile. It was Dick!"

"Yay!" Sammy's head popped out from under the sheet.

"Batman stomped on the brakes and ran after the kid. Dick was so surprised to see Batman coming for him, he just froze to the spot. He didn't know Bruce was really Batman yet. Batman grabbed him and hugged him really hard. Dick was very confused. Then Batman put him in the Batmobile and raced back to the Batcave. The whole drive Dick kept thinking, am I being kidnapped by Batman?" Dean rolled on his side to watch Sammy's reaction.

"Inside the Batcave, Batman looked at Dick for a long time. Then he made a decision. He pulled off his mask."

"Cowl," Sammy said.

Dean smiled. "Okay, he pulled off his cowl, so Dick could see it was Bruce. Then Bruce told him, 'You scared the crap out of me. You are not allowed to leave the house without me, understood?' Dick was so surprised he just nodded. Then Batman went over to the Batcomputer and started working on something. When Dick got curious, he went over to see what it was. It was a costume that had lots of bright colors. What do you think Batman said when Dick asked him about it?"

Sammy grinned. "That it was for him?"

"Yep. And that it had to have bright colors to make it easier for Batman to keep an eye on him." Dean stared hard at his brother.

"So…I'm not allowed outside by myself?" Sammy asked, eyebrows raised.

"Nope."

"But I can go outside with you or Bobby?" Sam always did need everything to be crystal clear.

"Yes."

"Do I have to wear bright colors, too?" He asked, a grin playing over his lips.

"It wouldn't hurt," Dean rolled onto his back, turning off the light. "G'night, Sammy."

"Night, Dean."

------------

Bobby rummaged through his desk. Papers were stuffed haphazardly into the drawers, bent white corners sticking out everywhere. As he searched, Sam's description of Lion-o kept repeating in his head. He had to find that damn clipping. Frustrated, he slammed the top drawer shut and started on the next. One of these days he was going to have to invest in a real filing system. Wait, what's that? Nope, that one was a possession. He dug deeper into the drawer. On the side of the drawer, near the bottom, was a newspaper clipping. Bobby slid it up, trying not to tear it. His eyes darted over it. This was it!

He set the clipping on his desk. Walking straight to the stack he wanted, Bobby pulled out the fourth book from the top without checking the spine. He flipped it open and searched for the right page. There it was. Returning to his desk, Bobby placed the clipping inside the book as a bookmark. Now that he knew what they were dealing with, he had a few extra precautions to take before going to bed. Assuming he could actually fall asleep, that is.


	12. Chapter 12

Thanks again to _**hotshow**_, my guiding light, and to everyone following this story. I never expected this kind of response. Thanks again and again!!

**Chapter 12**

Dean rolled out of bed bright and early. They had an eight am appointment at the hospital for Sam's tests. He grabbed a quick shower and dressed before waking Sammy. It amazed him that Sammy could sleep so well. Sam was practically an insomniac since Jess died. He supposed there were some advantages to amnesia, even weirdo amnesia.

Sammy dressed slowly, clearly not happy about going to the hospital today. A single stern look was enough to silence his brother's mumbled whining. With Sammy dressed, they went downstairs. Bobby sat at the kitchen table, reading the morning paper and sipping a cup of coffee.

"Morning," Dean said as he headed to the cabinets to prepare two bowls of Lucky Charms.

"Mornin'," Bobby grumbled. "Sleep well?"

"I had a really cool dream about the Thundercats," Sammy said as he sat at the table. "Want to hear about it?"

Bobby folded the paper and set it aside. "Shoot."

Sammy grinned. "All the Thundercats came for a visit and we played some really cool games. They were really good at hide-n-seek, I never could find them. But when we played the hand game, I won that."

Dean set the cereal bowls on the table. "What's the hand game?"

"You know," Sammy held up his hands and made swiping motions through the air.

Dean froze. If there was one thing he was absolutely certain of, it was that Sam at five had not learned to fight yet. Not really.

"Stand up," he said. Sammy gave him an odd look, but his brother stood. Dean took a swing at Sam, intentionally pulling just short of actually touching his brother's face. Sam's hand flew up to block it. He tried with the other hand, same result.

"Dean?" Sammy grinned at him. "I think I remember playing this game with you."

Sammy listed to the side. Dean reached out, grabbed Sam by the shoulders and guided him back into the chair. Sammy sat there, his face blank, for several seconds. Then a smile rose. "That's good, right? That I remembered?"

"Sammy. Do you remember sitting down just now?" Dean asked, heart slamming into his breastbone.

Sammy looked around. He frowned. "Not really. Where's the milk?" He pulled a bowl toward him.

Dean rubbed both hands over his face as he turned to fetch the milk. It was a really good thing they were already headed to the hospital. He felt Bobby's eyes on him from the moment he turned around until he poured the milk into his and Sammy's bowls. Dean shot Bobby a strong look before putting the milk away. When he sat down to eat, Bobby was reading the paper again. Well, at least the old man was pretending to read the paper; Dean had his doubts.

Silence filled the kitchen while they ate. He checked his watch. It was almost time to go. "Sammy, go get Batman. We need to hit the road."

"K, Dean." Sammy jumped up from the table and raced out of the room.

Dean put the dishes away, rinsing the bowls before leaving them in the sink. He turned to say something to Bobby, but Bobby was standing watching him. "I don't know how long we'll be."

"No problem. I'm bringing a book for you to read." Bobby stepped out of the room. He returned with an old volume that obviously resided in one of the many stacks throughout Bobby's house. When Dean held out his hand, Bobby scowled at him. "I said, I'm bringing it."

"You're coming with us?" Dean asked, more surprised than anything.

Bobby harrumphed. "If yesterday was any indication, you don't need to sit in a hospital waiting room alone. See ya at the car." Bobby walked out before Dean could protest.

"I got Batman!" Sammy announced, holding out the black clad action figure. "Do we really have to go? I don't like the noisy machine and having to hold still all the time." Sammy scowled.

Dean resisted sighing. He had been doing far too much of that lately. It was time for a better attitude about this whole thing. "Sammy, get in the car." That was better, he told himself. He did not sigh, groan or roll his eyes.

The drive to the hospital was uneventful, though Sammy did complain about the music enough to make Dean just turn off the damn radio. Silence was better than whining. Bobby tried to ask more about Lion-o, but Sammy did not have any new answers for him. When Bobby tried pressing for more information, Sammy stared out the window, refusing to turn around or respond.

It was a good sized hospital considering the relatively small town they were in. Dean supposed it was because this hospital had to service the entire county. That made sense. Despite the size, it still had a small town feel. The nurse who handled out-patients recognized Bobby, so they chatted while Dean found a place to sit. Sammy sat next to him, slouching down, hiding behind his bangs.

"What's Batman up to today?" Dean asked, trying to shake Sammy's mood.

Sammy shrugged. "Don't like tests."

"Yeah, I know." A sigh slipped out. Damn it! "But we need to find out why you keep falling down, Sammy."

Sammy looked up at him, hopeful. "What if I promise not to do it again?"

"I wish it were that simple. I really do." Dean shook his head. "What does Batman say about it?" He pointed to the toy clutched in one of Sammy's hands.

Sammy groaned. "He says I need to be brave."

"There you go." Dean nodded, eyes darting back to the nurses' desk.

A couple sat down opposite them. The woman gave him a faint grin while the man leaned forward, hand outstretched. "Marty. This here's muh wife Birdie." He grinned broadly.

Dean shook the man's hand, unsure what to make of him. "Dean." He nodded to the side. "Sam."

"Nice ta meetcha, nice ta meetcha." Marty's head bobbed.

"Don't you mind Marty, now," Birdie jumped in, "he's never met a stranger, that one." Her accent was different, Dean could not quite place it, but it was pleasant enough.

Marty's grin broadened. "True, true. Whereabouts you folks live? In the county?"

That sounded safe enough. Dean nodded.

"Graveyard," Sammy said.

"What's that?" A shocked look replaced Marty's grin. "You live in a graveyard?"

"For cars." Sammy replied with a nod. He held up his bandaged hand. "Have to be careful when you play outside."

Dean saw Birdie's eyes drop to the toy in Sammy's other hand before she smiled at him. "Yes, I suppose so. What is a car graveyard?" Her eyes shifted to Dean.

Dean cleared this throat. "Auto salvage yard." He felt his defenses kick in. These people better watch it.

"Ya live inna salvage yard? Tha only person I know like that is Singer." Marty replied, the shocked look still intact. Dean fought back the urge to scowl, forcing his face to blank.

"Bobby's right there," Sammy pointed out their friend, who was grinning at the nurse and writing something down.

"Ya live wid Bobby?" The shocked look was accompanied by Marty throwing himself backward, hard, into the chair. "I dinna know Bobby had family."

"How do you know Bobby?" Dean asked, cutting off whatever Sammy had been going to say. He heard his brother's mouth snap shut. Out of the corner of his eye he watched for signs of a temper tantrum or just outright moodiness. So far, so good.

"Ah likes ta go ta Singer's fer special parts," Marty winked at Dean. "Me and the missus. A safe home is a happy home, ah likes ta say."

"Nice saying." Dean refused to take the bait. He was not discussing their personal business with complete strangers.

"Marty! Birdie!" Bobby took the seat next to Birdie. "You're the last people I expected to see today. What are you doing here?"

Marty reached over his wife to shake Bobby's hand. "Jus some tests, Bobby. Nuthin' ta worry 'bout."

"He doesn't believe that for a second, Bobby." Birdie smiled at her husband. "Even though it's the truth. Bobby, why didn't you tell us you had family coming? We would have invited you all over for dinner. So these boys are…?" She let the words hang, clearly hoping Bobby would fill in the blank.

"Nephews," Dean said with a grin. "Uncle Bobby insisted we stay with him for a while."

Bobby squirmed in his seat. That's what you get for inviting yourself along, Dean thought, as he continued to grin at Bobby. The older man seemed to get it, nodding in defeat.

"Yep, the only family I got left," Bobby agreed. Dean was surprised at the sincerity in the man's tone. He wondered if Bobby was just the master of sincerity, or if he was being truthful. "Sam here needs a few minor tests done, so I figured why not here?"

"Good, good," Marty nodded at them. "We gots some uh tha best doctors ya ever seen round these parts."

Dean nodded. He hoped that was true.

"Sam Cooper."

"That's us. Come on, Sammy."

------------

Sammy had to be sedated because he was so agitated about the tests. Damn that bitch doctor and her lousy attitude. Once his brother was out they insisted Dean go back to the waiting area, promising to come get him before Sammy woke up.

Dean trudged back out to find Bobby waiting alone, reading the old book. He sat next to his 'uncle.'

"Cute," Bobby grumbled. "Nephews, huh?"

Dean flashed a smile. "Worked, didn't it?"

"Oh yeah. Birdie raked me over the coals for not telling her about my nephews before. I ought to turn you over my knee." Bobby glared at him.

Dean maintained the smile. "I wouldn't recommend it."

Bobby chuckled. "Here. This is what I wanted you to read." He handed over the book.

First Dean saw the newspaper clipping. The article was over a year old judging by how the paper was yellowing, not to mention the date at the top. It told about strange wild animal attacks in a state park. At first, from the description, Dean thought of a Wendingo, but the details did not add up. When the attacks moved from the park to a suburban area, he knew it could not be a Wendingo. They preferred deep forests and woods. Plus this creature continued its attacks for some time. Wendingos only feasted every couple of decades.

He lifted the article to examine the page Bobby wanted him to read. After scanning it, Dean flipped to the front cover. The title of the book was 'Mystical Creatures: Real and Imagined.' He turned back, pouring intently over the page.

"It can't be a werecat, Bobby. The lunar cycle is all wrong," Dean said when he looked up.

"Yes and no," Bobby replied. "You see, there's something strange about those damn cats. The legend in here," he tapped the book, eyes aflame, "says once a human is bitten by either a werecat or an original, you turn into a werecat. What we're talking about, is one of those originals."

Dean raised one eyebrow. "Original what?"

Bobby shrugged. "No idea. But you can kill 'em."

"Okay." Dean shut the book, looking at Bobby. "How?"

"Same way as a werewolf or werecat: silver bullet to the heart." Bobby's voice was soft and deep. Dean tried to throw off how much Bobby reminded him of Dad sometimes, but it was difficult.

"So, how do you know about these original cats? You hunted one before?" He closed the heavy book, setting it on the chair beside him.

"Took out a whole family of them," Bobby replied, adjusting his ballcap. "Didn't think there were any more in the area. But, Dean," Bobby leaned forward and his voice dropped to a whisper, "last time I had plenty of help, and we still had some serious injuries. I don't think we can take this one alone."

Dean scowled at him. "We're not calling anybody, Bobby. If one of these original cats is after Sam, I'll take care of it."

"We'll take care of it, Dean," Bobby glared at him. "But it'll be dangerous. For all of us. It would be better if you'd let me call in a couple of other hunters."

Dean shook his head. "I've been learning how hunters like to talk. Hell, the first time we met that psycho Gordon, he knew all kinds of things about my family. Forget it. The last thing I want is for any hunters to know where we are, much less about Sammy's condition. I doubt Gordon is the only one who wants to come after Sam." Dean glared back. If he could not trust Bobby to keep his mouth shut on this one, then he and Sam would need to hit the road after all. After the test results, of course.

Bobby removed his ballcap, scratched a hand through what hair he did have, then pulled the cap back on roughly. "Never really thought about it that way, Dean. You're right. We'll have to take care of it, assuming that's what it is." He shook his head. "Won't be easy, though."

Dean let out a mirthless chuckle. "Is it ever?"

---------------

"Mister Cooper," Doctor Wayne approached them.

Dean sprang to his feet. "Sammy waking up?"

"Not yet. I expect it will be at least another half hour before the anesthesia wears off. Considering your brother's size and how agitated he is about certain tests, I made sure they really put him under. The test went really well." Doctor Wayne sat opposite Dean, next to Bobby.

"Bobby? Nice to see you." Wayne shook Bobby's hand. Bobby said nothing, just nodded toward Dean.

"Right," Wayne lifted the file he was holding. He checked a page in it before continuing. "Judging from the preliminary results, I would have to say that your brother's mini-strokes are not causing permanent damage, but we do need a more thorough review. Were you aware of the additional fluid build up he has?"

Dean nodded. That Jeffries bitch had mentioned that.

"That is the reason for the strokes."

Dean's jaw clenched. He was going to hunt down and kill that bitch.

"I take it you didn't know that."

He shook his head, unable to trust his voice.

"Can you tell if they seem to be getting better or worse?" Wayne asked, whipping out a pen.

Dean cleared his throat, attempting to reign in and force back those pesky emotions as he considered the question. "Well, the one the other night lasted for a while, maybe a half a minute to a minute, but it seemed like longer. I think he had one this morning and it only lasted about," he looked to Bobby for confirmation, "ten seconds?"

Bobby nodded. "Sounds about right."

Wayne smiled as he wrote it down. "That's good. It may mean nothing, but it may mean that Sam's body is taking care of the excess fluid itself. If that is the case, then we will not need to perform any surgery. However, I would like to keep a close eye on Sam. I understand that keeping him in the hospital is not an option at this point, and I think we know who we all have to thank for that," the doctor scowled as Dean nodded. "But if you and Bobby agreed to monitor him closely, I see no reason for him not to leave with you today. I'm going to give you my cell," he whipped out a couple of business cards to write on the back, "any time you feel Sam may have had one of these strokes, call me. I need to know how long it lasted and how severe it appeared. As long as they continue to improve, we're good. But if just one looks worse, I want to do another scan, check the pressure. I'd like to do that anyway in a few days, Mister Cooper. To monitor him."

"It's Dean," he informed the doctor. "You set it up, and we'll be here. Thanks, Doc." Dean stood, his hand outstretched.

Doctor Wayne stood, taking Dean's hand in a firm handshake. "I'm just relieved that your brother is in such good hands, Dean."

"Me, too," Dean admitted.

Wayne released his hand and shook Bobby's again. He turned back to Dean. "I know it is ridiculous of me to say something like this, but try not to worry too much. The human body is an amazing thing. You would be surprised what it can deal with."

Actually, he would not be all that surprised. Dean looked back, intending to sit, when he felt a stabbing pain in his shoulder. With a hiss, he knocked away the stabbing pressure on his left shoulder. Looking up, Dean saw it Doctor Wayne staring at him, one hand still extended. Bobby had a similar shocked look on his face.

"What?" he demanded.

"Dean, there something wrong with your shoulder?" Bobby asked, his voice suspicious.

"It's nothing," Dean snapped. "How long until I can see my brother?" he demanded of Wayne.

Doctor Wayne's arms crossed over his chest. "Right after you let me take a look at that shoulder." Behind him Bobby grinned, nodding.

Dean's eyes shifted between the two. His shoulder felt fine until Wayne grabbed it. He guessed it was supposed to be a reassuring gesture, but right now he felt more like punching the guy's lights out. If he were not Sam's doctor…

"Come on, Dean," Bobby nodded toward the far doors where Sam was, "don't make me redo my priority list." Dean's eyes narrowed.

"The sooner you let me examine it, the sooner you'll get to see your brother," Wayne added.

"Fine. Where?" Dean felt like he was constantly giving in these days, and it was really starting to wear thin. Did all that extra patience he kept telling himself he needed only apply to Sammy? Yes.

Doctor Wayne led him to the same room where they prepped Sammy for the CT scan. Bobby crowded in behind him. Dean felt like his last nerve was being ground into dust.

"This isn't necessary," he protested. "I just dislocated my shoulder a while back. That's all. It doesn't even bother me."

The doctor stared at him a moment. "It doesn't bother you? What, until someone touches you?"

"Usually people know better," Dean snapped.

"Shirt," Wayne motioned to him.

Dean glared at Bobby, hoping that the older man would take the hint and leave. Instead, Bobby took a seat in one of the chairs along the wall, eyeing him suspiciously. Dean knew Bobby could take a hint, so this attitude was confusing. Keeping an eye on Bobby, Dean peeled off both shirts. As he sat on the exam table waiting for Wayne to finish washing his hands, Dean watched Bobby's eyebrows draw together.

He glanced over at his left shoulder. The bruising looked worse than it had this morning, the whole area covered in red and purple.

"When did you dislocate it?" Wayne demanded, lifting Dean's arm and performing several range of motion stretches.

Dean shrugged with his good shoulder. "Before Sammy got hurt."

"Did you strain it recently?" Wayne's voice was becoming more demanding with each question.

Dean cleared his throat, looking at the wall. "Maybe."

"How?" Wayne chose to stare him down.

He did not know why, but the combined stares of Bobby and Wayne made him start to feel guilty. "Kinda got into a fight yesterday." Dean saw Bobby's frown. "Just two guys, no big deal."

"Sam was with you?" Bobby asked. Well, it was more of a statement than a question, but Dean nodded anyway. "Why? What started the fight?"

Dean shrugged his good shoulder again and looked away.

"I'm going to get a sling. That arm needs to be immobilized for at least three weeks. Then I'm making an appointment for you with one of my colleagues, Doctor Schroeder, to check it out again. He'll give you rehab exercises to do at that time." Doctor Wayne scribbled in his folder again. "Got it, Dean? Three weeks." He headed for the door but paused, with his hand on the doorknob.

"Did you say you were in a fight yesterday? With two guys?" Wayne looked back over his shoulder. "In that pool hall on the edge of town?"

"I didn't say it was there," Dean replied, trying to figure out if he could start on that car restoration using just one arm or if he should pitch the sling.

"Two men were treated here yesterday from a fight there. One of the men, who was admitted for a concussion as well as torn shoulder muscles, told me this morning that it started because he didn't like the idea of a grown man carrying a toy around. He also said if he ever saw it again, he'd make damn sure the guy didn't have a brother." Wayne still stared at him.

"Smarter than he looks," Dean heard himself say. Wayne nodded, leaving the room.

When they were alone, Bobby must have felt like they could talk. "Dean. You didn't mention your shoulder."

Dean glared back. "It's nothing."

"I'll call tonight and arrange for the job to start in a month," Bobby said.

"No," Dean snapped, pulling his t-shirt back on. "I'll start Monday. This is for Sammy. We need the money."

"So, is this stubbornness genetic, or did you just learn from the best?" Bobby asked, glaring at him. Dean had no idea why Bobby seemed upset, unless Bobby was afraid he could not do the car job.

From outside the door they heard, "Dean!"


	13. Chapter 13

Hope the delay in posting this wasn't too long. Thanks again to everyone following this story – really appreciate! _**Hotshow**_ and I are really overwhelmed by the response. Over 100 people have this fic on alert now!!!! WOW!! Thanks again!!

**Chapter 13**

"Dean!"

Bobby watched the irritation disappear from Dean's face, replaced instantly with a hard countenance. Dean hit the floor running, pausing only long enough to wrench open the door that barred him from his brother.

Bobby grabbed his book and Dean's other shirt as he followed. "Sammy!" Dean bellowed, his voice echoing in the tiled halls. Bobby nearly slid into a sharp corner that Dean took easily, the younger man's stride never breaking. Assuming the boys stayed with him, Bobby figured that in a month he would either be in top physical condition for a man his age, or two weeks dead. He doubted there was any actual middle ground there.

"Deeeeeeean!"

He thought Dean grumbled, "Keep your shirt on, I'm coming." They reached post-op, where four people in blue and green hospital garb wrestled with a man in the far bed. Dean slammed into the nurses or orderlies, whatever they called them, scattering two like balls on a pool table.

"Easy, Sammy. I'm here." The older Winchester's voice carried clearly in the otherwise quiet area. As if Dean's touch were magical, Sam's thrashing limbs stilled instantly. The other two who were trying to hold Sam down backed up, looking a little confused but overall relieved. Bobby caught their attention and waved them back, before Dean noticed they were still there.

Sam's hands reached up to wrap around Dean's biceps, squeezing pretty hard by the look of it. "Dean! I don't want the test! I don't want to!" His head lashed side to side violently.

"It's okay, Sammy. They're all done. It's over." Dean held Sam by the shoulders, leaning over to keep his brother down on the bed.

As Bobby approached, Sam's head stopped and he looked up at Dean. "All done?"

"Yep. All done. Ready to leave soon?" He heard the smile in Dean's voice.

Sam grinned. "Now?"

Dean let go of Sam's shoulders and slapped his leg. Sam scooted over, allowing Dean to sit next to him. Dean slid onto the bed next to Sam's knees, which looked like white-sheeted mountains. "Soon."

"Dean?" Bobby held out the other shirt. "Want this?"

Dean glanced back, took the shirt from Bobby's hand without a word.

"You said you'd be here when I woke up," Sam accused, shaking a finger at Dean. "You said."

Doc Wayne picked that moment to walk in. "That's my fault, Sam. I refused to allow your brother back here until he let me take a look at that shoulder." He checked Sam's eyes with one of those penlights. Bobby never could figure out how looking in a person's eyes told the docs anything about what was going on inside.

"Dean!" One hand shot out, grabbing Dean by the arm again. "You said nothing was going to happen to you!"

"It didn't," Dean insisted, peeling Sam's fingers off his arm. "I'm fine."

Doc Wayne said nothing, but he held out a dark blue sling. "Put that on," he ordered Dean.

Dean glared at the doctor, ignoring the sling. Bobby suspected they were not getting Sam's release papers until Dean put the damn thing on. He cleared his throat. When Dean's head snapped to look at him, Bobby nodded at the sling. "Unless you want to be here all night?"

Dean took the hint then. He put it on, rather clumsily. Bobby suspected Dean rarely followed doctor's orders anyway. Apparently Doc Wayne came to the same conclusion as he leaned over to help Dean adjust the sling.

"Sam? Your brother's shoulder is hurt. He needs to wear that everyday, all day, for three weeks." Doc Wayne's face was serious as he leaned over Sam. "I'm making it your responsibility to see that he does."

Sam's face scrunched up. "But Dean looks after me," his voice quivered with confusion.

"Brothers look after each other." Doc Wayne replied. While Sam processed that, he turned back to Dean, handing over a card. "This is your appointment in three weeks. I expect you to be there, and don't worry about the bill. We will be tacking it on to Sam's payment plan. I'll have them get Sam's release papers ready." He smiled down at Sam.

"Dean? I like Doctor Wayne. He lets me leave." Sam grinned.

"But I want you to take it easy today. No running around, no playing outside, no getting hurt." Doctor Wayne held up Sam's bandaged hand.

Sam flushed red. "Yes, sir."

Doc Wayne walked towards the nurses, but as he passed he mumbled Bobby's name under his breath. Curious, Bobby followed. After asking for Sam's release, Doc Wayne led them out into the hall.

"Bobby? I have a problem." Doc Wayne looked back down the hall, as though he feared someone appearing around the corner any second.

"What's that, Doc?" Bobby leaned against the wall, studying the younger man.

"Well, I have this patient." Doc Wayne paused, fiddled with the folder in his hand. "He has this really protective brother who has already put two men in the hospital. And I need to tell the brother some potentially bad news, but I'm not sure how to break it to him, without him becoming…agitated."

"Agitated? You'll be lucky if Dean just becomes agitated." Bobby sighed. How much more crap did they have to take on? "Tell you what. Tell me the bad news, and I'll tell you if you need to tell Dean."

Doc Wayne shook his head. "Doctor-patient confidentiality."

Bobby groaned. "Why don't you change the last name on that file to Singer. I just adopted both of them."

Doc Wayne chuckled. "Wish I could, Bobby."

"Fine. Why don't you tell me about a hypothetical man who needs to be told what's wrong with his brother?" Bobby pressed. If this was going to upset Dean, he really wanted to know what it was first. At least it would give him an idea of how much glass there would be to clean in the salvage yard later.

Doc Wayne pursed his lips, weighing Bobby's demand. Bobby waited, trying to be patient. Again he wondered how Dean did it. That boy had the patience of a saint where his brother was concerned. After last night's antics in the ER, Bobby was ready to turn Sam over his knee, all six foot four two hundred what-ever pounds of him. But not Dean. Oh, no. Dean kept it together until they were back home, where the boy could escape for a few minutes.

"Let's say there are these brothers. They're very close." Bobby nodded, encouraging Doc to continue. "One has an odd form of amnesia where it appears he has regressed into childhood. But his new doctor has made some calls to colleagues who specialize in the field of amnesia and discovered that this man's amnesia does not fit the regular pattern. One specialist even suggested that the strange form of amnesia does not stem from any brain trauma, that is it all psychological."

Bobby let out a low whistle. "So you're saying, hypothetically, that there is nothing medically wrong with Sam, uh, I mean, the brother's memory? That he wants to be five?"

"It is a possibility. Of course, we'll only know for sure with time." Doc Wayne looked tired, worn out. "I wish I had more answers, I really do. I could arrange a meeting with one of the psychologists who specializes in amnesia, but that would alert Elizabeth Jeffries."

"And that would be, uh…" Bobby searched for the right way to ask if this was 'that bitch doctor' Dean mentioned.

"Catwoman."

"Right." Bobby nodded. "Doc, let me tell him. After we get home. I don't know that he'll take it any better from me, but at least he won't be knocking out any of your windows."

Doc Wayne's eyebrows rose. "He does that?"

Bobby shrugged. "Usually car windows. Got plenty of those." Doc Wayne continued to stare at him. "Hey, everyone needs some kind of stress relief." The way Doc Wayne stared at him made Bobby uneasy, like there was something wrong with that. Hell, if Dean wanted to bash in a few windows later, that was perfectly fine with him. If anyone deserved to let off steam that way, it was Dean.

"Mind if I ask something personal?" Doc Wayne said, but the man was still staring at him like he was walking around with a leashed tiger or something.

"You can try," Bobby answered. He liked Doc Wayne, but the man was starting to make him feel just a teensy bit uneasy.

"Sam believes he's five, right? Why does he keep calling for his brother? Why didn't he wake up screaming for his mother or father?" Doc Wayne looked genuinely confused.

Bobby considered telling the man it was none of his business, or that he didn't know. But that didn't seem right; especially considering the good doctor was shielding the boys from that crazy bitch in the next state. He adjusted his cap a few times, trying to make it feel a little more comfortable.

"Their mother died when Sam was a baby. Their father raised those boys by himself. Others offered to help out, but he never did take anyone up on it for too long. And he would need to leave on business trips," Bobby stressed the word business, not caring if the doctor got it or not, "which left the boys alone. Then Dean looked out for Sam."

Doc Wayne studied him for a moment. "So Sam has depended on his brother most of his life? To take care of him?" The doctor nodded. "Well, at least that makes sense. Explains a few other things as well."

"Yeah? Like what?" Bobby demanded. If he had to give up information, then the doc did too.

"Well, it explains how quickly the older brother has adapted to the circumstances. He's done it before. And it explains why Sam might want to be a child again. If they're in the same line of work as their father," he looked meaningfully at Bobby, guess the bastard did get it, "then maybe he has mentally taken them back to a time where neither of them can get hurt. Where he can depend on his brother to protect him from things like hit-and-run drivers."

Bobby frowned. That made too much sense. Dean was not going to like this. "Doc? What if I don't tell Dean all of it? How about I just let him know the amnesia may be psychological? Let him draw his own conclusions."

"I would like to hear those conclusions. Maybe at Sam's next appointment?" Doc Wayne asked. "Dean's insight into this would be invaluable. I doubt there is anyone else who has that kind of insight into his brother?"

Bobby sighed, thinking of John. "Nope."

"If he does want to set up the appointment with the staff psychologist, just have him call my office." Doc Wayne shook his hand again. "Thanks, Bobby."

"Thank you, Doc. We really do appreciate all this."

--------------

It heard the rumble of a man machine. It blinked wide its deep gold eyes, squinting in the daylight. Why did men insist on being active during the day? It stretched, popping its back and stretching its claws. When it peered out of its home, high atop Singer's discarded machines, it saw the shiny black machine pull up to the house. Was the tall one injured again? It ran a long, red tongue over its teeth, anticipating such a delicacy.

The men emerged from the machine. The other man, the one it wanted to study more, had something wrong with his arm. It squinted against the sunlight, hoping for the men to move into the shade so it might see better. Yes, the other man's arm was held against his body, wounded.

It smiled to itself. Although the tall one appeared to be a perfect target, his reflexes surprised it. The fact it could not instill fear was another problem with the tall one. But the other, perhaps it could work with the other. The other was wounded and cared for the tall one, that was obvious. It could even use the tall one to create fear in the wounded man. It needed to watch and learn more, but the beginnings of a new plan took root in its mind. It needed to be cautious, so that it may inflict as much pain on Singer as possible. It decided Singer needed to watch when the time came, its enemy needed to be present when it destroyed the two men. Singer was dangerous but this time he would be alone. It would make certain of that.

-----------

Dean fiddled with the strap on his sling again. It cut into his neck, rubbing the skin raw. The way it held his arm still caused an ache in the muscles, like his arm was screaming to be freed. He tried taking it off earlier, after they got back to Bobby's, but both Bobby and Sammy jumped his case. Sammy he could understand, but Bobby? He expected Bobby to side with him, or just not care one way or the other.

He let his eyes wander over the salvage yard, taking in the rusting hulks. Dean had often wondered how Bobby made a living this way. Then again, he often wondered how anyone could stand to stay in one place, go to one job, day after day. The sounds of cartoons on Bobby's television filtered out through the screen door. He took another swig of beer, enjoying his last day off for a while. The beast he needed to restore was supposed to arrive by ten in the morning. He might have protested starting a day early, but it was for Sammy.

The legend about werecats, how they came from an older species that infected humans, played through his mind. If that were true, then they were cat-like during the day, too. Probably more vulnerable during the day, he decided. Most cats were nocturnal. If they could figure out where the damn thing holed up when it wasn't hunting, it should be easier to kill.

He shifted in his chair, liking the feel of the gun pressed into his lower back. He had double-checked to make sure the clip was loaded with silver bullets before coming out here. Now Dean wondered if he could draw it out, face it on his terms. It already targeted Sammy, so Dean was determined to kill it before it got another shot at his brother. Bobby might have some ideas for drawing it out.

"Hey, Dean," Bobby dragged another chair over to sit by him.

Bobby had that look on his face, the same look he had the other night when he asked how Sammy was really doing. Dean cringed inwardly. As he opened his mouth to discuss the creature they needed to kill, Bobby said, "There's something we really need to talk about."


	14. Chapter 14

Here is the new chapter, as promised. Big thanks to everyone following this fic! I'm having a ball writing it. And thanks to _**hotshow**_, a wellspring of inspiration.

**Chapter 14**

"Oh, come on, Bobby!" Dean stared at the older man. "You've got to be kidding."

Bobby shook his head. "They can't know for sure, not yet. But it's a working theory."

Dean set his beer on the ground, unsure if he could continue to hold it. "You're trying to tell me that Sam wants to be five." He shook his head. "I just can't believe that."

"Nobody is saying he's doing it consciously, but maybe it's subconscious. Or whatever those psychologists call it." Bobby did not look away, the way people usually did when they lied. The man looked right at him, impressing the importance of this on him.

_Regressed to a safer time, in childhood. I'm sorry, I promise not to do it again. You always take care of me._ Dean rubbed a hand over his face as phrases from the past week assaulted his mind. _It can't be your fault._ The glimmerings of an idea were kindled into a small flame. "He's keeping us safe."

"What was that, Dean?" He felt rather than saw Bobby lean closer, straining to hear what he'd said.

"When we were kids, we never hunted. Dad always left us someplace, usually some crappy motel room, with a loaded shotgun that Sammy wasn't allowed to touch." He leaned back, allowing the realization to wash over him. "Sammy was around five or six when…" his voice trailed off as he remembered the shtriga.

"When what?" Bobby's voice was gruff but gentle, prodding him on.

Dean cleared his throat. "When I realized that taking care of Sammy was serious business, and so were Dad's orders."

"So he picked the perfect age for you to look after him," Bobby replied with a nod. "Sam always was too smart for his own good."

"We had a fight," Dean confessed, "about my shoulder. Sam wanted to take at least a week off, let me recover some, but I was determined to go on this hunt Ellen called about. He was furious." His gaze rested on an interesting rust spot. It looked like a dog chasing its tail. "Sam went out to grab something to eat and get away from me for a few minutes. That's when he got hurt." He closed his eyes. So it was all his fault. Not just the fight and Sammy being hit by a car, but the amnesia too. He couldn't protect Sam as an adult, so Sam decided they needed to be kids again.

"There's a psychologist down at the hospital who can talk to Sam," Bobby's voice broke through his raging thoughts of self-incrimination.

"I don't know, Bobby. Let me think about it." He reached back down for his beer. As they sat quietly, each to his own thoughts, a new idea came to mind. "Bobby? I think I have an idea."

-------------

"Come on, Sammy! Hurry up!" Dean shouted into the house.

Sammy ran outside. A really big car sat on the back of a really big truck. It was brown, all covered in dirt and rust. Sammy wrinkled his nose at it.

"Aw, come on, Sammy," his brother slapped his shoulder, "this is just the before. The after will look awesome!"

Sammy turned around to look at his brother. Dean seemed pretty happy about having to work on the dirty car. He wished he could understand why. It was just…dirty.

Standing against the house where it was safe, Sammy watched the men unload the big, dirty car and push it where Dean wanted. Then Dean shook each man's hand before waving Sammy closer. He watched the truck drive off before approaching his brother. One of the men reminded him too much of the mean man Dean beat up.

"What do you think, Sammy? Can we handle it?" Dean asked him.

Sammy tilted his head to study his brother. "We?"

Dean grinned. "You don't think I'm going to do this by myself, do you?"

Sammy looked at his brother's arm in the sling. No, it would not be a good idea for Dean to do any of the heavy stuff by himself. He shook his head. He saw Dean reaching for something off to the side, and an image of Dean beating a car flashed before his eyes. Dean was so angry, angry at everyone and everything, so scary. It scared Sam right down to his toes.

"No!" He lunged forward, snatching the thing from Dean's hand.

Dean looked at him funny. "Sammy? Problem?"

Sammy looked down at the thing he took from Dean. It was a wet sponge. Confused, he met Dean's eyes. "I thought you wanted to beat it up."

"Beat up the car?" Dean asked, still looking at him funny. "We need to get some of this dirt and mud off, so I can see how bad it is." Dean grabbed a bucket of water and moved close to the car. "What made you think I wanted to beat it up?"

Sammy shrugged even though his brother wasn't watching him. "Because you did it last time."

Dean's eyes did look at him then, really hard. Then Dean went back to washing the car. "You gonna help or what?" his brother demanded.

Sammy joined in washing the car. It was kinda fun, more fun than just sitting in Bobby's floor watching cartoons all day. Dean teased him about his hair and how he washed the car. He threw his sponge at Dean once, earning himself a soaking from the bucket. Even one-handed he couldn't get away from Dean. When they finally finished washing the car, Dean stood looking at it.

"It's a lot of work," he told Sammy. "I'm going to need your help to take it apart so we can fix all the rust." Dean squinted at the sun. "Let's check under the hood."

Dean popped the hood. Sammy leaned in next to Dean, wondering what he was supposed to look at, so he looked at everything. There was a black hose thingy that looked like it might fall apart if he breathed on it wrong. "Dean? That looks bad." He pointed it out.

"Yep. Definitely going to have to replace all the hoses and rewire everything," Dean held up some black wires that ended in a tangled mess. Sammy guessed it was supposed to be connected somewhere. "I think we have enough time to pull the engine, so we can really get to it tomorrow. You game?"

Dean's dark green eyes weighed on him, waiting for his answer. Sammy wanted to say no, that he would rather go see what Batman was doing about Catwoman. Instead, he nodded. When Dean grinned at him, Sammy felt his heart speed up. He made Dean happy! That was awesome. After days and days of watching how worried his brother was, to see Dean happy was a huge relief.

Sammy looked over, checking that his Batman was where it could see everything they did. Batman was perched on a nearby car, leaning over, but he should still be able to watch. Sammy grinned, ready to do whatever Dean told him.

By the time Dean announced they could stop for the day, Sammy and Dean were both dripping with sweat and covered in nasty car gunk. But the old engine hung from a heavy chain over the car and Dean patted him on the shoulder.

"Good job! Let's hit the showers." He felt Dean push him toward the house. Then he heard running steps behind him. Sammy spun around to see Dean running away from the house. Curious, he waited. Dean ran to him a few seconds later, holding up Batman. "Don't want to forget this!" Sammy grinned, taking his toy from Dean.

Sammy knew he was supposed to take his shower first, so he raced upstairs. Something funny happened in the shower. One minute he was standing there, washing his hair, and the next he was lying in the bottom of the shower with Dean shouting at him.

"Sammy! Sammy!"

Sammy frowned. "Dean, I'm not done yet. Get out." He waved his brother away.

Dean sat on the closed toilet. "Sammy, you fell in the shower. Did you know that?"

Sammy sat up. His back and butt felt sore, just like he had fallen. Why did he never remember falling down? That was really annoying. "It's okay, Dean. Get out."

Dean gave him another one of those funny, worried looks before he left. Maybe his brother worried too much about him? Sammy really liked it at first, but not so much now. Especially in the shower. If Dean tried to make him start taking baths, he was going to throw a bigger fit than the one in the ER the other night, and make sure he broke something next time.

Sammy stood, testing his feet. He was not dizzy. He was okay. The water was still on, so he rinsed off quick before stepping out. Water dripped all over the floor while he dried himself off. When he looked in the mirror, Sammy saw his hair dripped all over his shoulders. Frowning, he rubbed his towel over his head. Dean did not need to do what he could do himself! Sammy dropped the towel in the floor opening the door, naked. He forgot his clothes again.

When he opened the door Dean stood with his back to him, sleep clothes balanced on Dean's hurt shoulder. Sammy took the clothes and dressed. When he was finished, he announced, "All done."

Dean went into the bathroom. Sammy noticed his brother had a bundle of clothes under one arm and the blue sling was no where in sight. He checked their room. The blue sling was on Dean's bed. Sammy sat next to it. Doctor Wayne told him to make sure Dean wore it all the time, and he was going to do just that. He did not like it when Dean was hurt, and he knew Dean would ignore that hurt shoulder if Sammy let him. So Sammy waited for his big brother.

---------------

Dean returned from showering to find Sammy sitting on his bed, waiting for him. "What's up?" he asked, cocking an eyebrow at his little brother.

Sammy held up that damned blue contraption. "You need this."

Dean held in the groan threatening to surge up his throat. "I wore it all day, Sammy. Cut me some slack."

"No. Doctor Wayne said you need to wear it all the time and he said I'm responsible." Sammy thrust the sling at him. "Put it on."

Dean pulled back the collar of his shirt, revealing the red welt there. "It hurts my neck, Sam. Come on, give me the evening off."

Sammy examined the skin. Dean thought he won when he saw his brother frowning. Then Sammy dug through his duffel. When his hand emerged with an old black t-shirt, Dean wondered what the hell his brother was up to. Sammy headed out of the room, shirt dangling from his hand.

Dean followed Sammy downstairs to Bobby's desk. Bobby sat behind it, reading through an out-of-state newspaper. "What is it?"

"Bobby, can I use your scissors, please?" Sammy asked.

Bobby shrugged, opening the center drawer and handing over the sharp items. Dean really had to give the man credit. He certainly seemed to take this totally bizarre situation right in stride, and not once had Bobby made Sam feel inferior. That was something Dean would be eternally grateful for. Even if Bobby kicked them out in a few days.

Sammy took the scissors and sliced into his shirt. Dean watched, amazed over his brother's actions. When Sammy had a long strip of black cloth, he set the scissors down. "Put it on," he demanded, turning to Dean.

Dean made a face, but he put the sling back on. Sammy took the black cloth and wound it around and around the strap where it bit into his neck. When his brother was done it was more comfortable, even if Dean hated to admit it.

"Better?" Sammy asked as Bobby chuckled.

"I guess," Dean grumbled, shifting it around.

Sammy flashed a brilliant smile before heading over to Bobby's television, where Batman waited for him.

"He's got your number," Bobby said, grinning.

Dean shot him a sour look. "Whatever."

"So does Doc Wayne," Bobby continued.

Dean drummed the fingers of his free hand on Bobby's desk. "Any luck with that research? Figuring out where these original cat things like to hole up?"

Bobby set his newspaper aside with a sigh. "No, not really. There just aren't that many legends about them. At least not written. I found one more reference, and all it said was that they like their prey to be convenient." Bobby shrugged. "Since their favorite prey is human, the damn thing could be anywhere."

"Maybe," Dean sat on Bobby's desk, one foot swinging free. "Sam said he talked to it. That it offered to help him remember." He glanced at Sammy watching cartoons. How did a grown man appear so innocent?

"So? It probably lied."

Dean turned to face Bobby again. "Probably. But that means it talks. Like us." Dean waited a second, until he saw the idea dawn on Bobby's face. "And if it talks like us…"

"Maybe it thinks like us?" Bobby sat forward, leaning on the desk. "What are you thinking here, Dean?"

"I'm thinking, if I were one of those things and had to watch hunters wipe out my entire family, I'd want revenge." Dean dropped his voice to just above a whisper, not wanting Sammy to hear. "Bobby, when was the last time you heard from those other hunters? The ones who helped out?"

All expression fell from Bobby's face. "See what you can scrounge up for dinner. I have some calls to make."

Dean did not wait for Bobby to reach for the phone. If other hunters might be in trouble, Bobby would not waste any time. "Sammy? You hungry? Let's see if we can find anything to eat!"


	15. Chapter 15

Big thanks again to everyone following. My apologies for making you wait for this chapter, but it needed editing - thanks to **_hotshow _**for pointing out the weak points! I hope it was worth the wait.

**Chapter 15**

Bobby set the phone down on its cradle. He made contact with only two of the other hunters from that particular hunt. They were alive and well, relatively speaking. From the others, one had disappeared completely and his friends assumed the worst. Another he knew had been found mauled about three weeks ago, which at the time had not raised too many alarms since it looked like a wild animal attack. The last one no one had heard from in the past week, which was not normally unusual, but knowing one of the creatures might be hunting them had Bobby worried.

He shoved his cap down over his brow, trying to remember the areas those guys worked. Pulling out a map, Bobby took a pencil to outline the approximate area for each hunter. The two he spoke with lived closest to him. The one that disappeared a little over a month ago was the furthest from him. The hunter killed by mauling was the next farthest, and the one that had disappeared last week was considerably closer to him than that. It was like something was working its way to him, killing anyone who had helped along the way.

Sometimes he really hated it when Dean was right. John had warned him, more than once, to take all of Dean's observations seriously, even if the boy didn't sound serious. John said Dean's ability to draw correlations, and sometimes to get inside the enemy's head, was downright scary. Well, he had Bobby scared now. This damned thing was out to get him and everyone else involved in that hunt, and it was headed his way. He already warned the other two hunters that they may have missed one, so hopefully they were taking precautions.

Bobby tapped his pencil against the desk. What they really needed to do was find this thing before it could go after anyone else. But if it was working its way to him, why had it already approached Sam? And how had it known? Unless…this was where it stayed.

The hairs on the back of his neck stiffened. How long? He routinely protected his house and rarely left at night. Maybe he had just been lucky to survive this long. Or it had other plans for him.

He scratched at his jaw. It approached Sam, spoke to the boy. Why would it make contact like that? Why would it have the toy? The damn things must be smarter than he gave them credit for. But why hadn't it killed Sam? Must be because he was the target, not Sam. Couldn't assume the boys were safe here, though. Bobby doubted Dean had anywhere else to take Sam. And he really didn't want them to leave, which was purely selfish on his part.

One, Bobby would feel much better if Dean were part of this hunt, especially with it being right here in his own backyard. That boy was damned dangerous, in a good way. And two, he hated the thought of the boys leaving with Sam in that condition, even if they might be safer elsewhere. He felt an obligation to John to look out for them. Hell, he just liked them, and this old house hadn't felt this alive in years, if ever.

"Well?" Dean sauntered out of the kitchen, eating something from a bowl. From the smell, he would have to guess the boys found some canned chili.

"Two are fine, one dead, and two unaccounted for," Bobby replied.

He watched Dean's eyebrows shoot up. "You needed five more hunters for those things? Seriously?"

"It was a whole family of them, Dean," Bobby stared the boy down, only now noticing Sam hovering in the background.

"Family of what?" Sam asked stepping into the room, chili drips on his shirt.

"Uh, nothing, Sam," Bobby shifted uneasily in his chair.

"The things that make werecats, Sammy," Dean said, shoveling another spoonful of chili in his mouth.

Sam leaned against the wall. "What's a werecat, Dean?"

Dean swallowed what he had in his mouth. "It's like a werewolf, only instead of a person turning into a wolf-thing the person turns into a cat-thing. Silver bullets still work."

Bobby watched Sam's eyes dart between them. "Bobby's hunting a werecat?"

Dean shook his head, stirring his chili. "Bobby is researching the things that make people into werecats."

"Why?" Sam asked. Bobby could swear the boy sounded more like himself. Even that annoyed, demanding tone sounded just right.

Dean slurped more chili, not answering.

"Why, Dean?" Sam demanded, that tone increasing.

Dean shrugged, shoveling in more chili so he would not have to answer. Bobby caught Dean's eye. Dean turned so Sam could not see his face and winked. It was all Bobby could do not to give anything away. So, in addition to conning Sam into working on the car with him, Dean's plan involved hinting at hunting without ever coming right out and saying as much. Well, no one knew Sam better than Dean, and if Dean thought this was the way to handle things, far be it for Bobby to stand in the way. Besides, he was pretty sure Dean would just knock him down if he did.

-------------

Dean watched Sam out of the corner of his eye. So far, so good. Sam had definitely taken the bait. He knew there was hunting going on and Dean was involved. Hopefully that would be enough to convince Sammy's sub-whatever that it couldn't keep them from hunting. Yeah, and the frigging tooth fairy was picking him up later for a couple of beers at the strip club.

Dean drained the last of his chili. As he walked past his brother, he frowned. "Sammy? You finished eating?"

Sammy glared at him. No, that was definitely a Sam glare. It couldn't be this easy, he told himself. No way. Nothing was ever easy for a Winchester. Sam was going to have to decide he wanted to be himself again, assuming, you know, the whole damn amnesia thing really wasn't because his skull kissed the pavement just a bit too hard. But it made too damn much sense, and it explained perfectly why that Jeffries bitch wanted to sink her claws into Sam. Physical trauma inducing psychological trauma. Son of a bitch.

As he dumped his bowl in the sink, Dean glanced over his shoulder. Sammy sat at the table, slurping chili. It was Sammy, not Sam. Sam never slurped. Sam had impeccable table manners, something that got on his nerves something fierce, but he really would not mind seeing too much now. He swallowed the sigh forming in the back of his throat, turned it into a single deep breath. The fact he saw glimpses of Sam would have to be enough for now. There was hope.

But he had to know something, something Sammy mentioned earlier today. Dean spun one of Bobby's dark wood kitchen chairs around, straddled it to sit facing Sammy. He gripped the back with his right hand, unsure how he would take an answer he didn't like.

"Sammy? Can I ask you something?" His voice sounded hollow, but he needed to know.

"What, Dean?" Sammy looked up from the chili, eyes bright under those bangs.

"Earlier today, you said I beat up the car last time." He waited for his brother to nod. "Do you remember seeing the car beat up?"

"You used a black stick." Sammy said, still looking through his bangs as if they could hide him, protect him from Dean. Sammy shivered, sending another spike of guilt through Dean. He had no idea Sam actually watched when he lost it like that. Not good.

"You, uh, acted like you didn't want to see me do it again." Dean gripped the chairback so tight he imagined he could feel the woodgrain through his skin.

Sammy's head turned slowly from side to side. "Scary."

"I don't want to scare you, Sammy," Dean said softly.

Sammy did look up then. "You'd never hurt me, Dean. That's not what's scary."

Dean leaned forward, pressing his chest against the chair. "So what scared you?"

Sammy's mouth twisted to one side and one eye squinted shut. "Don't know. But I don't want you to do it again."

"How's the chili?" he asked, desperate to change the subject.

"You won't, right?" Sammy asked. Persistent bastard. Dean shook his head, figuring it was the least he could do. "Not bad. Dad's chili is better."

"Think so?" Dean studied his little brother. "I thought he put too much of that tomato paste stuff in it."

Sammy rolled his eyes. "You always say that."

"Yeah. Guess I do." The weak smile he gave Sammy was rewarded with a bright grin from his little brother.

"Dean, can you tell me the story about Snow White and the seven dwarfs tonight?" Sammy asked, scraping up the last of the chili in his bowl.

Dean felt like pounding his head on the table. "Geez, Sammy. Can't you pick stories I actually remember?"

Sammy's bright eyes studied him for a moment. "But I don't like the stories out of Penthouse, Dean."

That constant tightness in his chest eased just enough to allow a chuckle through. "You sure, Sammy? Some of them are pretty good."

Sammy laughed back. "Got you, didn't I?" He pushed his empty bowl toward Dean.

"Yeah, you got me." Dean picked up the bowl, deposited it in the sink.

Sammy yawned and stretched. "Can we go to bed now? I'm really tired."

-----------------

"Me, too," his big brother told Sammy. Sammy followed Dean out of the kitchen. Bobby was on the phone again, but he waved good night anyway. Bobby smiled and waved back.

Dean said he should change his shirt before bed. Sammy saw the chili on his shirt then. He felt kinda bad about it, but Dean said it happens to everybody, not to worry about it. So he didn't worry. After they both crawled in their beds, Dean started to tell Sammy the story about Snow White. He was pretty sure none of the dwarfs were really named Cranky or Talky or Hot Stuff, but he didn't say anything to Dean. If Dean wanted to change the names, that was okay with him. He had the best brother in the world.

---------------

Sammy looked around. He was outside, watching Dean work on the old car. When did they come outside? He scratched his head. He walked closer to his brother when he noticed Dean was dressed funny. Dean had a long black cape on. Why did Dean need a cape to work on the car? Sammy looked down. He was wearing a bright red shirt and green pants. Where did he get green pants?

When Sammy looked at his brother again, Dean was talking to Lion-o. Finally! Someone who could help him remember! Sammy ran toward Lion-o, wanting to demand Lion-o keep his promise about helping him remember. But then Lion-o's claws popped out. Sammy tried to scream for Dean to watch out, to duck, but his screams were silent. Lion-o slashed down and Dean fell to the ground. The ground under Dean was red and wet with his brother's blood.

Sammy ran to his brother. As he ran, he felt like he was running in a dark tunnel, and Dean was just on the other side. It was dark and wet. When he came out of the tunnel, they were in a basement. He couldn't see where Lion-o had hurt Dean and there was no blood, but his brother was not moving. Sammy leaned over, put his ear by Dean's mouth. He wasn't breathing either. "Dean!"

Blackness passed over his face, making Dean disappear. Sammy rubbed his eyes. What was going on? Where was his brother? He turned around to find a doctor standing in front of him. They were in the hallway of a hospital. The doctor was saying something. He couldn't hear the words, but he knew it was bad. They couldn't do anything for Dean. The doctor wanted to tell him that Dean would die.

"Nononononononono…"

"Sammy!" He felt hands shaking him and it sounded like Dean's voice. But Dean was right there, in the hospital bed, the same color as the sheets. "Sam!"

It was hard to breathe. Those hands shook him again. "Sam!" It really sounded like Dean. Sammy squeezed his eyes shut, hoping when he opened them again Dean would be there, watching over him, like always. He forced his eyes open slowly, afraid of what he might see. Dean's face hovered over him, looking really worried.

"Dean," Sammy breathed, feeling relief wash over him. He reached up, wrapping his arms around his big brother's neck, squeezing tight.

"Sam? Sammy," Dean squirmed in his grip, but Sammy held on tighter. "Dude, can't breathe."

"Sit," Sammy insisted, pulling Dean down. The bed shifted as Dean sat next to him. He wanted to crawl into his brother's lap, but he was too big. When did he get too big to sit in Dean's lap? Why did he have to like his veggies?

It was still dark, he could not see that Dean was okay. "Light."

"You'll have to let go of me first," Dean's voice was softer this time.

Sammy took a deep breath and held it as he let his brother go. He listened as Dean walked over to the lamp and turned it on. When he saw how good his brother looked in the light, how his skin was nice and tan, how he moved easily, Sammy felt himself relax a little.

Dean came back, sat beside him. "Bad dream?"

Sammy nodded, leaning to the side, against Dean. "Real bad. Dean?"

"Yeah?" He felt Dean's hand on his back, rubbing in circles.

"I don't think Lion-o is a good guy." Sammy scooted closer so he could lay his head on Dean's shoulder.

Dean cleared his throat. "Yeah. I don't either. And I don't think it's really Lion-o."

"Dean?" Sammy swallowed hard. "I don't want you to die."

"That was a pretty bad dream, huh?" The circles Dean rubbed on his back were faster. "Think you can go back to sleep?"

Sammy shook his head. "Not by myself."

Dean groaned. "Oh, come on, Sammy. You serious? I'm only two feet away."

Sammy used that look he knew always worked on his big brother. "Please, Dean? Please?"

Dean stood, glaring at him. "Can't believe," he mumbled, shaking his head. Sammy grinned. He knew Dean would do it now. Sammy jumped up so he could help Dean push their beds together. When Dean crawled back into the bed by the door, Sammy frowned at him. That meant Dean's hurt side would be by him.

"No, Dean. You have to sleep on that side." He pointed to his bed.

"What for? I always sleep by the door," Dean protested.

"Come on, Dean," Sammy whined.

Dean grumbled and moaned, but he shifted over into Sammy's bed. With a smile, Sammy jumped into Dean's bed.

"Means you have to turn off the light," Dean told him, and his brother did not look happy. Sammy was happy his brother just looked alive.

He reached out with his long arms to turn off the lamp. Now that it was dark, Sammy squirmed closer to his big brother. He grabbed Dean's good arm and wriggled himself around so his head was on his brother's good shoulder and he could hold on to Dean's arm. Happy now, Sammy closed his eyes and tried to think of good thoughts so he would have good dreams. Mean ol' Lion-o couldn't get his brother now; it would have to go through him first.


	16. Chapter 16

First off, let me say that you can thank _**heather03nmg**_ for the brotherly snuggle in the last chapter. She loves them brotherly snuggles (and I guess I kinda spoiled her with Problems With Dean: Road Trip) so I had to slip in at least one, just for her. I didn't want to say anything when I posted it, because I didn't want to ruin the surprise. Glad so many of you enjoyed it, too! And always - thanks to **_hotshow _**for her continual support and editing.

**Chapter 16**

Elizabeth Jeffries hung up the phone. An associate, Doctor John Clevant, who specialized in amnesia cases, called to inform her that he spoke with another doctor with a patient who had a startlingly similar case history to Sammy. She ground her teeth, tapping bright red nails on her desk. Her attempts to petition the courts for custody, even temporarily, for Sammy stalled the moment the judge learned his brother took him – _under duress_. Elizabeth considered lying about it, claiming the man was some lunatic with a thing for mentally incompetent men, but that kind of lie always came out at precisely the wrong time. Besides, the nurses and doctors she used to testify to Sammy's condition all mentioned the overly protective brother and their dramatic departure.

A dull throb behind her eyes was early warning of the migraine threatening to come on. She slid open a desk drawer, popping two pills dry in order to ward it off. Dean Mahogoff was not a person to be ignored, no matter how hard she tried. She was going to have to deal with him, as well as the backwoods hick doctor currently treating Sammy. For a moment, Elizabeth considered calling the hick doctor to warn him about the fluid build-up on Sammy's brain, like a peace offering. She quickly dismissed the idea. It would only warn them that she knew where they were.

If she left now, she could be in Hicksville by tonight and approach the doctor in the morning. She might even be able to convince him that it would be best for Sammy to be placed back in her care. Maneuvering around that volatile brother of his would be extremely difficult, but Elizabeth was confident it could be done. She picked up the phone again to inform Morgan that she had a lead on their missing patient.

-------------

Sunlight filtered through his closed eyelids. Dean groaned. His damn shoulder ached. It didn't bother him this bad before he started wearing the sling, he could swear. He sat up, looking around the empty room. Where was Sammy? The sheets on his bed had been thrown aside, half resting in the floor. Dean reached over to feel that side of the bed. It was cold. Sammy had been up for a while.

He grumbled to himself about pain in the ass little brothers as he made his way downstairs to check on Sammy. His brother was at the kitchen table with his head down.

"Sammy? You okay?"

Sammy's head lifted and he looked at Dean with bleary eyes. "Headache."

"Why don't you go lie down?" he asked, already dialing Doc Wayne's number in his head.

Sammy shook his head. "Where's your sling? You're supposed to be wearing it."

"I need to change first."

Sammy squinted at him. The headache must be bad. "Okay, Dean. I'll wait here." His brother's head drooped back down onto his arms.

Dean raced to the stairs and into their bedroom. He snatched his cell phone off the small bedside table and hit the call button. All his calls recently were to Doc Wayne. Good thing the man was so damned nice about it.

"Hey, Dean. What's going on with Sam?"

Dean tried to steady his breathing. "Headache. Looks pretty bad."

"But no more strokes since the one in the shower? That you know of?"

Dean shook his head. "No, nothing like that."

The silence from the other end seemed to last forever. "It could be part of the healing process, but let's not take any chances. Why don't you bring him in and we'll run some tests, just to be sure?"

"When?" Dean demanded, looking for a halfway decent pair of jeans he could pull on.

"Oh, say, now?"

"We're on our way." Dean snapped his phone shut.

---------------

Sammy was oddly silent during the drive up to the hospital. Dean kept glancing over, but his brother looked about the same as usual. He decided that maybe it was the headache making Sammy so quiet. Sammy kept his head down and his eyes shielded from the sun.

"Sammy? Look in the glove compartment. There's a pair of sunglasses in there you can wear." He would do it himself, but with one arm in a sling, he hated to drive no-handed to fumble around looking for sunglasses.

"It's okay, Dean," Sam snapped.

Dean looked over, surprised by the attitude. That was when he noticed the other odd thing. "Sammy? Where's Batman?"

Sam lifted his head just long enough to glare at Dean. "Batman? Are you kidding?"

Dean tried not to let that feeling of hope surge up, he tried to build a wall to keep it at bay. How many times had he hoped that this was it, Sam was back, only to have it all torn away? He bit down hard on his lower lip, trying to distract himself with the pain. He only stopped when he tasted blood.

He cleared his throat. "Sammy? Anything other than the headache bothering you?"

"Not at the moment," was Sam's surly reply.

"When we get back, you can go back to bed. I can handle the car by myself today." Dean watched his brother out of the corner of his eye, hoping to elicit some type of reaction.

Sam started. "Don't be stupid, Dean. Not with your shoulder like that. If I take the day off, you have to too."

"How…" Dean's voice cracked. How long had they waited for this? "How old are you, Sammy?"

"Dude, if you don't know, I'm not going to tell you."

Dean's foot pressed harder on the accelerator. They had to get to the hospital, now. This either meant Sam was back to himself, or dying. He hated to be that way, but in the Winchester World, that's the way things usually worked. He knew he was panicking, but he could not help it. Sammy was his one true weakness, and he knew it.

Dean left skid marks on the road leading to the hospital parking lot. He wanted to run inside, but Sam was not up to it.

"Dean?" Whiny Sammy voice nearly brought him to his knees as they walked to the hospital at an excruciatingly slow pace. "I don't feel good."

"I know, Sammy. That's why we're here." Dean guided his brother inside hoping the cool lobby, which was not as bright as the sun outside, would be more welcome to Sam. He led Sammy up to the front desk. "Doc Wayne is expecting us for some tests."

The woman at the front desk smiled at him. "Cooper, right? Doctor Wayne is expecting you. Do you know where to go?"

"Yes, thanks." Dean flashed a smile as he shoved Sammy in the right direction.

Doc Wayne was waiting for them upstairs, a hypodermic in hand. He rushed over to Sam, swabbed his brother's arm, and plunged it in. "It'll take a minute before he feels the full effect." Then to Sammy, "Sam? You'll be feeling much better real soon."

Sam nodded, not looking up. They waited, watching Sam tensely. After a few minutes the tension fell from Sam's shoulders. "Better," he said, offering them a small smile. Dean released the breath he didn't know he was holding.

"Sam? Can you tell me when the headache started?" Doc Wayne asked.

Sam shook his head. "Not sure. I was, uh, watching cartoons," he had this odd, faraway look on his face. "Dean? Where's Batman?"

"At the house," Dean replied, his confusion battling with his worry to see who crossed the finish line first.

Sammy shook his head again. "Um, maybe an hour after I got up? Doc? Why am I obsessed with a Batman toy? That isn't normal." Sam's face was pinched and his brow furrowed.

Doc Wayne's eyebrows did a little dance right about then. "Obsessed? I don't know Sam. Think you can handle the tests this morning without being sedated?"

Sam shrugged. "Sure. No problem."

Doc's eyes cut over to Dean. "I want you in there with him. To keep an eye on things."

"Sure, Doc." He looked hopefully at the doctor, but the man's face blanked on him. Dean guessed doctors didn't like false hope either.

"Good. Let's go." Doc Wayne's voice projected confidence that Dean did not feel.

He waited in a plastic chair inside the room while they scanned Sam's brain. Scanned his brother's brain. The thought alone was enough to make his skin crawl. Dean fidgeted in the chair. He wondered if people had to go to special design schools in order to make chairs this uncomfortable. Sam's brain scan, Dean shuddered, felt like it lasted longer than last time. When the machine finally quieted, Dean walked over.

"Hey, man. How you feeling?"

Sam grunted. "Like some dude with a jackhammer doesn't know when to call it quits."

Dean grinned as the assistants unstrapped his brother from the table and helped him sit. "Ready to get out of here?"

Sam nodded, moving slowly toward the room where his clothes waited. Dean stood outside the door, anxious. He could not put his finger on it, but every hair on his neck stood straight out and his skin literally crawled with tension. He wanted to leave. Now. Five minutes ago.

Sam stumbled out of the small changing room, squinting against the light. "Head still bothering you?"

"A little," Sam admitted, grabbing Dean's arm for support. Dean felt silly at the immense relief he had for a migraine instead of another stroke. He did not care how mild the damn things were, or that they did not appear to cause permanent damage, he wanted them to stop. The strokes freaked him out a hell of a lot more than some damn vision. Visions he could handle, or at least pretend to.

They rounded the corner, Dean with a wary eye out for trouble. That feeling he had when something was about to go wrong on a hunt, and when it did it always went really, really wrong, was screaming and shouting inside his head. He did the best he could to ignore it, not to let Sam in on it, because Sam had enough to worry about. But when Dean looked up and locked with a pair of cold, blue eyes, all pretense fell.

"Son of a bitch."

He knew Sam recognized the bitch when fingers dug into his forearm. "Catwoman," Sammy whispered. Dean swung Sammy around, pushing him in the other direction. He might have only been here once before, but Dean knew where every stairwell was. He shoved his brother forcefully ahead, his pace quickening.

For a moment Dean regretted his decision not to carry a gun inside the hospital. As they raced downstairs, he decided it was probably best. Had he been packing he just might have shot that bitch, purely out of reflex, of course. Then there would have been the whole 'killed a human' thing, not to mention a mad dash out of town and the search for yet another doctor.

Speaking of doctors, how the hell had that Jeffries bitch found them, anyway? Dean noticed Sammy's breathing was heavier than it should be for a short run as they reached the car. He unlocked Sam's door first before running around the car. By the time he made it around, Sam had unlocked the driver's side door and pushed it open from the inside. Sammy's face was white and a sheen of sweat glistened on his brother's forehead.

Dean peeled out of the parking lot as if the yellow-eyed demon itself were after them. He raced back to Bobby's, never pausing to consider if that was a wise move. The whole drive only one thought kept running through his mind: Maybe Doc Wayne did work for Catwoman.

"Dean?" He saw Sammy was shaking as he parked the car. "Dean, how did Catwoman find us?" He looked around frantically. "Where's Batman?"

"Easy, Sammy," Dean said, trying to inject some confidence in his voice. "She can't get you here. Okay?" Damn it, he thought, Sammy was looking for Batman. If he saw that bitch again, he was not going to need a gun. Dean wanted to strangle her with his bare hands.

Sammy's wet eyes met his, tears threatening to fall. "P-p-promise?"

Dean put his hand on Sammy's shoulder. "I promise. I won't let her get you."

"But what about you?" Sammy asked, a higher whine in his voice. "Lion-o is out to get you!"

Okay, that came out of left field. "Sammy, let's deal with one bad guy at a time. Come on, Batman's in the house."

-----------------

Dean wanted to deal with one bad guy at a time, huh? Sammy wrapped his arms around himself as he stepped out of the car. Okay, then Dean could deal with his bad guy, Catwoman, and he would deal with Dean's bad guy, Lion-o. Doctor Wayne said brothers take care of each other. But he didn't have a gun.

Sammy studied his brother as Dean headed for the door, no doubt to tell Bobby what happened. Dean looked scared, too. But Dean didn't get scared. Sammy hung back, watching Dean go into the house. Okay, he was not supposed to be outside by himself, but he wasn't staying outside. He just needed to get something. Sammy rushed over to where he and Dean worked on that dirty old car. He put it away yesterday, just in case Dean got any funny ideas, but he needed it now. With a guilty glance over his shoulder, Sam reached behind some boxes and pulled out that heavy black stick. He knew it was not just for beating up cars, but he was pretty sure that was the only thing Dean was going to use it for.

Sammy turned the black stick over in his hands. He knew what it could do to a car. He imagined what it could do to Lion-o, especially if that thing tried to come near his brother. Liking the feel of it in his hand, Sammy headed to the house. The black stick might be a better friend than Batman.

---------------

It watched the black machine roar up to Singer's house. The men inside were tense, nervous. They knew it was here, that much was certain.

The tall one remained outside after the other one went in. This was unusual. Was the tall one looking for it? To help him remember? It smiled at the memory. If its kind could laugh, it would. It help a man. The idea was absurd.

The tall one headed for the rusting machine that occupied his attention all of yesterday. Moments later, he headed to the house. It squinted in the bright light of day, but it saw nothing new or different. The tall one's reasons were often strange and illogical. It slid back down into its sleeping spot, curling into a tight ball.

Only Singer and two of the other murderers of its family still lived. Tonight it would hunt another. For now, it would sleep.


	17. Chapter 17

My apologies for the wait. All Hell Breaks Loose Pt1 threw me for such a loop I had trouble getting back in the Lil' Sammy mood. Hoping to make up for it this week! Honest! As always - huge thanks to _**hotshow **_for continual support and inspiration, and to all you wonderful people following this story whether or not you choose to leave a review!!

**Chapter 17**

Brad Wayne called Dean's cell phone again. It rang straight over to voicemail. Damn it. His eyes swept the parking lot hoping to spot Dean's car, but he knew it was hopeless. If the brothers were still at Singer's he would be lucky. Why did today have to be the day someone else drove the carpool?

"George!" Brad waved down a colleague leaving for lunch. "Hey!" He jogged up to the other doctor. "Need a huge favor."

George groaned. "Now what?"

"Got a patient not answering my calls. Drive me to the house?" Brad grinned.

"What for?" George demanded, avoiding eye contact.

Brad chewed his lower lip for a moment. "I've lost their trust. It's those brothers I told you about, the amnesia case and the dislocated shoulder."

George hesitated by his car. Brad watched hopefully. "The ones staying with Bobby Singer, right?"

"Yes."

George groaned again. "Fine. Get in." The car lights flashed as the alarm turned off and the doors unlocked.

Brad jumped into the car before George could change his mind. "What made you change your mind?" he asked as George started the engine.

"Bobby Singer," George replied. "He's a friend of my aunt and uncle."

"Marty and Birdie?"

"Yep."

Brad stared out the window, watching the scenery fly by. "So you know where we're going."

"Yep."

Brad's fingers tapped the armrest. Facing Dean, especially if the man might think he is not on their side, had his insides writhing. The image of the patient, the rather large patient, with the ripped shoulder muscles kept resurfacing.

"Brad?"

Brad started at the sound of George's voice. "What?"

"You nervous or something?" George glanced over at him.

Brad shook his head, clearing his throat. "I just hate losing a patient's confidence. That's all."

"Okay. If you say so."

The words sounded good, but as they pulled into Singer's Auto Salvage, his writhing insides threatened to charge right up his esophagus and spill out into the floorboard. George would undoubtedly not appreciate that. Brad tried to swallow down the taste of bile.

As the car parked near the house, he saw the front door open. A young man with one arm in a sling stepped out. Brad swallowed hard again. As the car stopped, he opened the door.

"Hey, Dean," he waved in greeting. "I, uh, have Sam's test results." He walked a third of the way toward his patient's brother and stopped. "I tried to call, but you weren't answering your cell."

Dean glared at him, making Brad feel like an intruder or trespasser. As he watched, Dean slipped the arm out of the sling. This could not be a good sign.

"Who is it, Dean?" Sam appeared in the doorway, holding that Batman doll. Damn it. He had hoped the younger brother was improving. Sam's demeanor this morning had been so promising. When Elizabeth Jeffries came demanding Sam's case file, claiming she had seen the brothers, Brad knew Dean would be upset. He did not calculate the effect it might have on Sam.

Sam cowered behind his brother at the sight of Brad. Brad took a deep breath, wondering what he could possibly say to repair the damage.

"What do you want?" Dean challenged, stepping in front of his brother.

"Just to tell you Sam's test results. And to let you know that Doctor Jeffries has a copy of Sam's medical records, which has this address on it." Brad swallowed hard again, the taste of bile burning his throat.

Dean took a couple of steps toward him. "How?" The man actually snarled at him. As if the patient in the hospital with a concussion because of Dean wasn't intimidating enough, now he thought the man might bite him.

"She is considered an authority in the field. If she requests a patient's file, even just out of curiosity, she usually gets it." Brad admitted as his writhing insides did a double somersault. He pointed at Dean's arm. "That's supposed to be in a sling."

Dean's eyes narrowed and Brad figured he was only a couple of steps away from a concussion or something painful. "Don't you want to hear Sam's test results?" He tried to sound authoritative, but it just came out squeaky. Brad imagined George laughing at him behind his back.

"Or about how Jeffries is petitioning for temporary custodial guardianship," George's voice came strongly from behind him.

Brad had no idea how George knew that, but it was a small town.

Dean's eyes shifted between him and George. "Who's he?" Dean demanded.

"George Schroeder. He's another doctor at the hospital." Brad answered.

"If you don't believe him," George said, "you can ask Bobby. My aunt and uncle come out here all the time."

"Names?"

"Marty and Birdie."

Brad watched the effect those names had on Dean. The older brother seemed to relax a little, studying George. "Bobby!" he shouted.

Bobby Singer appeared in the doorway, holding a shotgun. Brad had a pretty good idea how well Bobby could use it, too. He took a step back, not that it would do any good.

"What is it, Dean?" Bobby sounded casual, but Brad was not fooled. That old man was pretty damned crafty.

"You know this guy? Says he's related to Marty and Birdie." Dean's eyes never left George.

"Sure, Dean. That's George. He drives them out here sometimes." Bobby stepped out the door, moved to stand beside Dean. Brad watched as Bobby leaned over to whisper in Dean's ear. Then Sam whispered something, too. Dean's face tightened, he put a hand behind his back for a moment, then placed his arm back in the sling. Brad drew a deep breath of relief.

"Come on in, Doc," Bobby waved to them, dropping the barrel of the shotgun toward the ground. "Both of you."

George shot Brad a look, one that said he did not think much of nearly being shot. Brad shook his head, heading toward Bobby's house.

----------------------

The lump in Dean's throat loosened as Doc Wayne and George, who ever the hell he was supposed to be, headed into Bobby's. The relief over Sam's doctor not being the one to betray them to that bitch was palatable, but now the courts were involved. They might have to pack up and move on again, but he wanted to hear Sam's test results first. His arm rested in the sling, which no longer bit into his neck thanks to Sammy. The gun in his waistband still pressed into his back, providing a measure of reassurance.

"So how did she find us?" Dean demanded once they were all standing in Bobby's den, not waiting for anyone to find a place to sit. Sam wandered into the other room, drawn there by another damned animated show. What the hell? GI Joe?

Doc Wayne cleared his throat. It was obvious the doctor was nervous and Dean liked it that way. People should know when they've really, really screwed up. "I called a few specialists in the field of amnesia, to discuss Sam's case. Apparently one of the doctors I called was one Elizabeth called, too. He must have contacted her."

"And why would he do that?" Bobby asked. Dean noticed Bobby's tone was far more conversational, but he knew better. Bobby was most dangerous when he played the part of an innocuous old fart.

"Well," Doc Wayne's feet shifted, "some doctors place a lot of emphasis on writing and publishing papers. They can be pretty cut-throat about it, stealing ideas and theories." He shrugged. "The specialist probably thought I was stealing her paper."

"Why?" Bobby asked again.

Doc Wayne's head bowed. "I was accused of it once. Someone else happened to come up with the exact same theory I did."

"What happened?" Dean asked, unsure if he bought Doc Wayne's story. Considering how well Doc looked after Sammy, Dean decided he did not care if the man did or did not try to steal some stupid paper in his past. Hell, Dean was guilty of how many counts of credit card fraud?

"I quit," Doc Wayne said with a shrug, "found another place to intern. Here. Plus, I like the people a lot more."

Bobby rested the shotgun beside the front door. Dean felt some of the tension ease from his shoulders. One part of his brain screamed not to trust anyone else's judgment while the other side of his brain argued that if Bobby trusted these men then they must be okay. He hesitated only a moment before responding to Bobby's questioning look with a slight nod, rubbing his tense neck with one hand.

"Dean?" When did Sammy come back into the room? "You okay?"

"Sure, Sammy," Dean forced a smile, "go watch your show." Then he noticed Sammy was clutching something. Dean glanced down. "Sammy? Why do you have a crowbar?"

Sammy glared at the two men. "Just in case." He walked back to his cartoons, holding the crowbar.

Dean shook his head, pinching the bridge of his nose, hoping that was not a monster headache building. That was the last thing he needed today. Later he needed to have a serious discussion about that crowbar and what the hell Sammy was doing with it.

"So?" he broke the uneasy silence. "What about my brother's test results? Worse?" Dean looked up, meeting Doc Wayne's eyes.

"Actually, no." A smile played across Doc Wayne's face. "The cranial pressure is nearly down to normal. You should not be seeing any more strokes."

"But the headache?" Dean protested. Why did anything that had to do with the brain have to be so freaking complicated?

"Sometimes when amnesia patients start to remember, the memories are accompanied by headaches. It could be a good sign." Doc Wayne had that weak smile again.

"He was more himself, before he saw," Dean leaned forward to whisper, "Catwoman."

"Excuse me?" George asked, looking at them all like Dean had just suggested they run naked through the streets and everyone else agreed with him.

"Who the hell is he again?" Dean demanded.

"He's the guy you have an appointment with in a few weeks," Doc Wayne said. "Doctor Schroeder."

"Someday," Dean groaned, "something really simple is going to happen to me, and I won't know what to do with it."

"Dean?"

"Fine, Sammy," he called out, "don't get up."

The two doctors found places to sit on Bobby's well used couch. Dean stood watching them while Bobby sat opposite, an odd expression on the old man's face.

"Can someone fill me in on Catwoman?" George asked, keeping his voice down this time.

"Sam," Doc Wayne pointed out Sammy in the next room, "calls Elizabeth Jeffries Catwoman."

George chuckled. "From what I hear, that's a pretty good description. In just a couple of hours at the hospital she has a reputation of being a raving bitch."

"Even better description," Dean said, leaning back against a stack of books, hoping they wouldn't topple under his weight. "So what is she up to?"

"She has already contacted a judge trying to get custodial guardianship of Sam," Doc Wayne explained. "The judge called me about an hour ago wanting to know, in my opinion, what was wrong with Sam and what kinds of treatments were being offered here as opposed to her hospital in the next state. The judge seemed rather offended by the fact Jeffries claimed to be able to provide better care at her hospital than in, and I quote, Hicksville."

Bobby chuckled as Dean shook his head. "Some people," he breathed.

"The judge came right out and told me that he was going to make her prove the brother was unfit to care for," he glanced over at Sam in the next room, "the patient before he would approve even temporary guardianship."

Dean rubbed at his forehead again. Definitely a monster headache coming on. "Guess we need to hit the road then."

"Now wait a minute, Dean," Bobby spoke up, "Sam seems to be doing real well here. And how can she possibly prove you're unfit?"

Dean glared at Bobby. "What do you think?" He did not want to come right out and say he was wanted in at least five states, much less for multiple murders, in front of these two fine upstanding members of the medical profession.

"Can't you give it a little longer?" Bobby asked. What was wrong with that man? Couldn't he see the logic in this?

"Bobby," Dean growled, hoping to drive the point home. "We can't afford to have people poking around."

Outside, the sounds of something metal falling interrupted the conversation. Dean leapt to his feet, rushing for the door with Bobby hot on his heels.


	18. Chapter 18

My apologies for the slight delay after what some of you referred to as the "evil cliffie." But, let's face it, Kripke is the master of Evil Cliffies!! Anway, here it is! Thanks as always to **_hotshow _**for keeping this thing afloat!! And BIG thanks to everyone following this fic - really, really appreciate it!!

**Chapter 18**

Dean bolted through the front door, images of furry creatures with long claws surging through his mind. He did not remember reaching for his gun but it was in his hand, extended like a part of his arm. Swiftly he checked the area, hoping to find this Lion-o creature before Sam came out. The last thing he needed was for Sam to go up against this thing. His imagination was far too vivid these days.

Dean noticed the hood of the old Chevy was on the ground. It had been resting against the shed. He sent Bobby the other way, hoping to corner whatever was here. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Bobby motioning for the two doctors to stay inside as the older man circled around, shotgun in hand. Dean stepped carefully through his work area, eyes scanning the ground for any sign of recent activity. There was no sign of anything resembling animal tracks, but that mark looked an awful lot like high heels. Frowning, Dean pressed his back against the side of the shed.

Bobby motioned to him from the far side. Dean nodded, whipping around the side of the shed, gun extended. Doctor Jeffries froze as he trained his gun on her.

"Aahhhhhh!" Her scream was shrill and ear-piercing. Dean shuddered, toying with the idea of shooting her just to shut her up.

"You just gonna let her scream like that?" Bobby asked, shouldering the shotgun as he walked to stand beside Dean.

"I could shoot her," Dean offered. "But Sam would probably be pissed."

"Probably," Bobby agreed.

"What do you have in that thing?" Dean motioned to the shotgun.

"Consecrated iron shot. Thought it might be that Lion-o critter." Bobby looked amazed the woman doctor could still be screeching like that. "I'm going in. This is too much for me."

Dean winced as Doctor Jeffries took another deep breath to continue screaming. "Stop!" he shouted.

Startled, she looked at him. Dean held up his gun, showed her he was putting it away, very slowly. With a head shake to clear it from all the screaming, he asked, "What are you doing here?"

"You're not going to shoot me?" she demanded.

"No," Dean sighed, deeply disappointed by the fact. "What are you doing here?"

Doctor Jeffries cleared her throat. "None of your business."

Dean figured if he had hackles, they would be up now. "I can tell you one thing you're doing here. Trespassing." He wondered if Bobby might call the cops, considering how wanted he and Sam were.

She stepped back, held up a small camera. "Want to show me that gun again?"

Dean glared at her. "If I do, you won't have time to take a picture." He headed for the house.

"I'm going to prove you aren't fit to care for Sammy!" She called after him.

"Time to leave, bitch!" Dean shouted without bothering to turn around.

Bobby headed out the door. He showed Dean the shotgun. "This one's loaded with rocksalt. Hurts like a bitch."

Dean grinned. "Tell me about it."

"As soon as I get back," Bobby promised, heading for Jeffries.

"Dean?" Sammy stood just inside the door, holding his crowbar. "What was it?"

"Nothing, Sammy. Don't worry about it," Dean brushed past, heading for a beer.

"Dean!" Sammy's heavy steps followed him. "Was it Lion-o?"

"No, Sam," Dean opened the fridge, "it wasn't Lion-o. If it was, I wouldn't be having a beer." He looked back, remembering their guests. "Anything for you guys?"

"Uh, no, sorry. We're still on-call," Doc Wayne replied.

"As a matter of fact, we should be getting back," George Schroeder said.

"Dean? Don't we need to work on the car today?" Sam asked.

"Bye, guys. Thanks for bringing the good news," Dean said, waving his beer at the doctors.

He waited for the door to close. "Sammy, I thought we were taking the day off?"

"Why?" Sammy swung the crowbar, shifting it from hand to hand.

"Your headache?" Dean asked, eyeing the crowbar.

Sammy shrugged. "I feel fine now, Dean. Can we go work on the car?"

"As soon as you tell me what's up with the crowbar," Dean said, taking a long pull on his beer.

"I like it," Sammy said.

"Why?" Dean insisted.

Sammy shrugged. "I'm going to go change now."

------------------

Sammy tried hard not to giggle as he raced upstairs to change clothes. They were going to work on the car! Okay, he had not been too happy about it at first. It was a really dirty car. But after working side by side with his big brother, where Dean needed him to help, Sammy decided he liked it. He liked Dean needing him, wanting him out there. It made him feel good, important.

Sammy set the crowbar down gently on Dean's bed so he could change clothes. An old pair of jeans and a yucky, worn t-shirt went on and his good clothes thrown against the far wall. Sammy rushed downstairs, holding his crowbar.

"Dean! I'm ready!"

"I'm not!" Dean snapped. Sammy grinned when Dean glared at him. He knew Dean was grouchy because he interrupted beer-time. That was okay. Most big brothers would not let their little brothers interrupt beer-time at all. Dean was the best big brother and Sammy needed to look after him. Even big brothers needed someone to look after them sometimes, especially when there was a Lion-o after them.

Sammy waited at the bottom of the stairs, tapping his crowbar against the bottom step.

"Sam?" Bobby sat behind his desk. "What's with the crowbar?"

Sammy glanced back, checking to be sure Dean was not listening at the top of the stairs. "In case Lion-o comes back," he whispered.

Bobby nodded, winking at him. "Good idea."

Sammy waited, trying to be patient. He saw Batman on the floor in front of the television. At least Batman would be safe inside. Sammy bit his lip, wondering if he should agree to the day off so Dean would stay inside too. No, it was still daytime. Bobby said that Lion-o liked night, so no more sunsets. They could work on the car until then.

-----------------

It wondered over the strangeness of man. They crept up on each other, hunted each other. Had man not yet learned not to hunt himself? Had its kind hunted each other, they would have destroyed themselves many, many generations ago. Even so, it was the last of its kind. Here, at least. It wondered if there were still some of its kind back in the old country.

It decided not to hunt any of the other hunters tonight. It needed to stay here, keep an eye on things. Singer's had never been so lively, so active. Perhaps there would be opportunity tonight for its revenge. Perhaps it would feast enough tonight to sustain it for weeks.

Now the two men worked on the rusted hulk of a man machine. It wrinkled its nose at the futility. For what purpose was this action? It was merely a machine. Could they not simply acquire or build a new one?

------------------

"Dean?" Sammy reached down to retrieve the wrench his brother dropped. "Why do people like to fix up dirty old cars?"

Dean laughed, taking the wrench from Sammy. "It's a classic, Sammy. It isn't just a dirty old car. It's more like a…" his brother paused, thinking, "work of art."

"Oh." Sammy went back to sanding the rust spots Dean told him to. "Dean? Is your car art, too?"

"My car is a masterpiece," Dean said quickly.

Sammy smiled at that. He always thought Dean would say something like that. "Dean? Why do you like your car so much? Because it was Dad's?"

Dean paused, looked at him funny. "Maybe. Or maybe because it was Mom's."

"Oh." Sammy got quiet. Sometimes Dean acted funny when he talked about Mom. Sammy wished he could remember her. "Dean? Did I get to meet Mom?"

An image of walking flames that turned into Mom came to him. He shut his eyes, trying hard to remember. She said Dean's name, then she told Sammy she was sorry. When he opened his eyes, Dean was staring at him. "I did, didn't I? Why would she say she's sorry?"

Dean took a deep breath, leaning against the car. Sammy waited. "I don't know, Sam."

"But Dean, you know…" He was going to say Dean knew everything, but that was silly. No one could know everything. That was impossible. And his head hurt. Maybe the sun was too bright? "Dean, where are those sunglasses?"

"Sam? Sammy, what's wrong?"

He felt hands on his arms. When did he close his eyes? "It hurts, Dean," he whined. His head felt like it was on fire. "Dean?"

"I'm here, Sammy. Let's get you inside."

---------------

Dean hauled Sammy to his feet, helped his brother inside. He tried to hold on to the doctor's words, that the headaches might be a good thing. Helping Sammy inside, Dean murmured words of reassurance. As he helped Sam onto the couch, fearing that the stairs would be too much right now, Sam shook a finger at him.

"Better leave that sling on, Dean. Don't overdo it."

Dean blinked back tears that threatened to form. Was he glad Sammy didn't see that bitch outside!

------------

Elizabeth Jeffries sat inside her car, fuming. That dirty old man, who smelled of gasoline and lord knows what all, actually threatened to shoot her! He even showed her the shells of rocksalt so she would know it wasn't lethal. She tried to file a police report against him, but these local hick cops acted like she was crazy. They kept telling her that Bobby Singer was eccentric, but he'd never shoot anybody.

Elizabeth ground her teeth, tapping her nails against the steering wheel. That judge had not believed her either, especially since she had been unable to provide any pictures of either the gun or the shotgun. Fine. That meant she would have to go back later, tonight. Yes, going at night was a fine idea. They would never suspect that after running her off in the daytime, and so soon. She wondered if John Morgan could be conned into coming with her. At least she would have someone to hide behind with that gun-wielding Dean Mahogoff around.


	19. Chapter 19

Okay, sorry for the wait, but I wanted this to be good. _**Hotshow**_ liked it so I hope you do, too. Big thanks to everyone following this – none of my stories have ever had this many people on alert before – THANK YOU. Thanks as always to _**hotshow**_, who asked for this story in the first place. I expect there to be two or possibly three more chapters, and the next chapter should post before the weekend. Thanks for your patience and I hope this meets expectations!!

**Chapter 19**

John Morgan stepped out of the car, eyeing the auto salvage yard skeptically. "Why are we here again?"

Elizabeth glared at him. "We need proof that Dean Mahogoff is unfit to care for his brother. What could be more unfit for a mentally incapacitated man than this?" Her arm waved at a tower of beaten and rusted autos. "Plus, he's carrying a gun."

"Sammy?" John moved closer to the car.

"No!" she snapped. "The brother!"

John opened his door. "I'll wait for you here." No way was he going anywhere near an armed Dean Mahogoff. No. Way.

"What's wrong with you?" Elizabeth hissed as she peered down at him inside the car. "No balls?"

John crossed his arms over his chest. "You might intimidate me, Elizabeth, but I don't have a death wish."

"Fine!" She straightened up, staring ahead at the salvage yard. "Then I'll go in by myself. And when my paper wins awards for pioneering work in neurology, your name won't be on it."

"But I'll still be breathing," he pointed out, slamming his door closed. John watched as she stalked off into the salvage yard. Despite her brilliance Elizabeth always tottered on the edge of sanity, in his opinion, but she seemed to have stepped right over that edge. Sammy Mahogoff as a case study for pioneering work in neurology? Please. John had an urge to call the man the brothers were staying with to warn them, but he still did not have a death wish. Mahogoff versus Jeffries? John had a hard time deciding who he would put his money on there. The only safe bet was to stay with the car. No matter what happened, he would be able to get home.

-------------------

The sun sank below the horizon. It woke, stretched. Perhaps tonight would be the time of its revenge. A long tongue ran over its sharp teeth, savoring its anticipation. It leapt down, landing softly in the dust. It shook itself, preparing for the night. As darkness descended, draping the rusting machines deep in shadow, it heard a noise. It crept through its domain, following an unfamiliar scent.

Was it another hunter? It moved in silence until it could observe the enemy. No, this one was not a hunter. This one was loud and clumsy. What was this one doing here? It followed, amused.

The one it followed tried to observe Singer and the two men. Interesting. It wondered what this one's intentions were. Clearly this one did not understand that the men did not venture outside the house at night, but perhaps this one would be persuaded to help change that.

It slipped up behind the intruder. It checked its claws, making certain they were fully extended and sharp. The points gleamed in the low light. It smiled in the way of man, knowing its teeth were more imposing that way. Flicking its long tongue out, it gently tasted the intruder's skin. If nothing else, this intruder would certainly make a delicious meal.

-------------------

Elizabeth Jeffries moved carefully through the salvage yard, certain she was perfectly silent. There was no way Dean Mahogoff could know she was here. She held her camera ready, taking pictures of anything that looked dangerous along the way. As she neared the house, Elizabeth wondered if she could peek in one of the windows.

She hesitated behind a crushed wreck, deciding the best way to approach the house. She chose a window she could see light through. It would be her best bet to see what was happening inside. She hoped to find Sammy watching cartoons, which Elizabeth could testify was hindering the man's progress to regaining his memory. Really, nearly anything she found she could say was hindering Sammy's progress. Anything outside the sterile hospital grounds was always suspect.

As she tried to decide when and how to move closer to the window, there was an odd sensation on the back of her neck. Elizabeth tried to shake it away, assuming it was something hanging from one of these wrecked cars. The sensation returned. She looked back, straight into bright gold eyes.

--------------

The scream brought Dean rocketing to his feet. Sammy turned around from his cartoons. He watched his brother pull out a gun and check the clip before racing out the door.

"Stay here, Sam," Bobby rumbled as he followed Dean outside.

Sammy frowned to himself. He looked between Batman and his black stick. He picked up the black stick. "What do you think, Batman? Does Dean need my help?"

Batman's arm pointed at the door. "That's what I thought." Sammy rushed to the door. At the threshold, he glanced back. "Thanks, Batman."

Sammy stepped outside, gave his eyes a moment to adjust to the dark before following the screams. He hefted his black stick in his hands. Dean still would not allow him to touch a gun, even though he was pretty sure he knew how. Sammy shook his head, trying to clear his thoughts.

The screaming was louder now. That was good; it meant the person screaming was still alive. There was shouting and the screaming stopped. Sammy hurried, breaking into a run. Two gunshots.

Sammy rounded the next car body. Lion-o stood over Dean, who was on the ground. Bobby yelled at Lion-o, brandishing the shotgun. Lion-o had Catwoman between him and Bobby. Sammy figured Catwoman was the reason Dean did not already shoot Lion-o. He crept up from behind, his hands sweaty on the crowbar. Sam knew he only had one chance to make this work.

"This won't work!" Catwoman screamed. "You can't scare me! I'll still prove you unfit!"

Dean squirmed on the ground. Even in the low light, Sam saw his brother's shoulder had three nasty gashes and was already covered in blood. His teeth gritted as he watched Dean struggle to sit up. He knew when Dean spotted him, because Dean's eyes darted away, concentrating on Lion-o and Catwoman.

"Shut up, bitch!" Dean shouted, trying to get his feet under him. "You. What do you want?"

Dean was unsteady on his feet. That worried Sam more than the obvious shoulder wound. It took a lot of blood loss to make Dean that unsteady, or a nasty blow to the head. A really nasty blow, because Dean's head was pretty hard. Sam squinted, trying to see if there was anything obviously wrong with his brother. That was when he noticed a nasty gash on Dean's temple, dribbling blood down one side of his face.

Sam took another step toward Lion-o, hefting the crowbar.

"What's the matter?" Dean laughed. "Cat got your tongue?"

Sam watched as Dean took some careful steps forward as he taunted the Lion-o creature. He waited, knowing Dean was trying to grab the woman, get her out of the way.

"Here, kitty, kitty," Dean crooned, clicking his tongue. "Bet you like to have your ears scratched, huh?"

"Think it'll behave better after it's neutered, Dean?" Bobby asked, covering Dean's movements with his shotgun.

After what felt like an endless time, Sam recognized his signal. He brought the crowbar down across the creature's back, just below its shoulders. It let out a howl that made him want to cover his ears, but Sam settled for jumping backward instead. When he looked for his brother, he saw Dean off to the side wrestling that woman with his good arm to stand back. Why did he think of Batman capturing Catwoman when he looked at that?

Sam could not help but grin at the unbidden image, until something glinted in the corner of his eye. "Sam!" Dean's voice echoed in his ears as he tried to throw his body the other way, but sharp pain lanced through his side. He rolled to his knees, crowbar at the ready. Where was it?

"Dean? Where did it go?" Sam stepped up to his feet, the pain in his side ignored for the moment. He tried not to think about why it felt wet.

"Up."

He followed the direction of Dean's gun. "Oh, great." Sam cut his eyes at his brother. "At least it'll be simple, huh?"

"It wants revenge," Dean muttered. "How far will it go?" His brother looked up, studying the stacks of cars. "Sam, you and Bobby escort the bitch out. But don't take too long."

Sam rushed to the woman, shoving her ahead of him. The instant they were out of Dean's sight, he exchanged a look with Bobby. Bobby nodded, taking over the escort duties as Sam hurried back to his brother.

Sam stuck to the sides of the wrecked cars, staying in the deepest shadows. Dean was not being quiet, making it easier to find his brother. He supposed that was intentional.

"So, are you like the original Puss in Boots?" Dean's voice echoed off the rusted hulks. "What brand do you like? I'll bet you're one of those Gucci assholes, huh?"

Sam froze. He did not know what it was, but he had the distinct impression that he needed to remain perfectly still. When it happened again, Sam knew it was a sound. Moving only his eyes, he searched for the source. There was a figure standing on top of the stacked cars. Wild hair stuck straight out from its head, creating a black halo against the night sky. Sam gritted his teeth, waiting for what would happen next. Why the hell did he leave the house without his gun?

Every muscle tense, Sam listened to Dean's taunts, which were becoming more creative and personal. Wait a minute, did Dean really just ask if the creature's mother was a carnival sideshow reject? Sam would shake his head, but he did not want to give his position away. Now Dean was asking how long it had been hiding, too cowardly to take on Bobby one on one. Sam saw the creature's wild hair go wider. That one must have hit close to home. Not long now he told himself, tightening his grip on the crowbar.

"That's it, isn't it?" Dean's voice carried well. Sam could hear the anger in it. "Too much of a coward, aren't you? Been just hanging around here how long? Weeks? Months? Years?"

The figure standing on the cars moved. Sam watched as it leapt into the air.

"Dean! Look out!" Sam charged around the cars, determined to get to his brother before it was too late.

"That's starting to piss me off," Dean said from the ground as Sam rounded the corner.

Sam let out a yell as he raised the crowbar, swinging it down. The creature was unbelievably fast. Why the hell would it wait to go after Bobby if it could move like that? Sam swung again, and another miss. He tried to maneuver away from Dean, giving his brother time to get up. At least he hoped Dean could get up. Dean had not moved since he burst around the corner.

A few more swings moved the creature further away from Dean. Sam tried to get close enough to actually hit it, but it had some wicked claws and a long reach. When the claws snagged his shirt Sam jumped back, his chest barely escaping the same fate his side met earlier.

"You really think that can hurt me?" The creature asked, teeth flashing in the light spilling out from Bobby's house.

"Not really," Sam took another swing. "But all I have to do," he swung again, "is keep you busy." A wide swing had the creature backed into a corner, surrounded on each side by rusting cars.

"Sam!"

Sam dropped to the ground, hearing the report of Dean's gun and the shotgun going off simultaneously. He lifted his head out of the dust to see the creature's body slumping toward the ground. Dean staggered forward, emptying his clip into it.

"There better not be any more, Bobby," Dean said with a snarl, eyes not moving from the creature.

"Hope not, Dean." Bobby said, shouldering his shotgun. "Sam! Come help me drag this thing out of the way before I call an ambulance."

"Sure, Bobby." Sam dropped the crowbar, heading toward them.

"Damn, Sammy," Dean breathed as he tried to pass his brother. "How bad did it get you?"

Sam shrugged. "Don't even feel it anymore."

Dean's eyes went wide. "Bobby, we can throw a tarp over it later. Go call that ambulance now!"

What was wrong with Dean? And when did his brother get taller?

-----------------------

Dean watched in horror as his brother collapsed right in front of him. He tried to catch Sam, but wound up pinned beneath his baby brother. This position was not doing his ribs any good, much less either shoulder. Dean wrapped his arms around his brother as best he could, trying to share body heat. He figured Sam was going into shock, pretty severely if his collapse was anything to go by.

When Bobby ran out of the house with an armload of blankets, Dean knew the older man must have been thinking the same thing. "Should be here any minute, Dean. Just hang on." Bobby patted his shoulder before taking the remaining blankets to hide the creature.

Too tired to think any more, or worry about one more thing, Dean waited for Bobby to rush back to them. Bobby knelt in the dirt next to him, one hand on his shoulder and the other on Sam's chest. "How you doing there, Dean?"

"What are we going to tell them, Bobby?" Dean asked. He wanted to be told what to say, what to do. He wanted Sam to wake up and be Sam. Well, he wanted a lot of things that were not going to happen.

"Don't worry about it, Dean," Bobby told him, "I'll come up with something about a rogue mountain lion or something." Bobby tilted his chin up. "You don't look so good. Just say that you don't remember anything and let me do all the talking. All right?"

Dean nodded, hoping that ambulance would hurry. It was an eternity that he held Sam before the sirens came. Another eternity before paramedics loaded his brother on a stretcher and put him into the ambulance. Dean tried to stand, to follow, but his legs refused to cooperate.

"Him too!" Bobby's voice came from somewhere, but Dean couldn't see him. Where did Bobby go? And who turned out all the damn lights?


	20. Chapter 20

Thanks once again to everyone following this fic. You all bowl me over with your kind words and just the fact so many people have this on alert. Big thanks as always to _**hotshow**_, this was written for her as well as with her guidance. Okay, for those of you disappointed in the fact 'Lion-o' did not eat 'Catwoman'; c'mon - seriously? What kind of fics **have **you been reading? Anyway, Jeffries will get everything she has coming to her. Just wait. And it starts here:

**Chapter 20**

Mike Green felt the anticipation of action as he brought his cruiser to a screeching halt at the entrance to Singer's Auto Salvage.

"Easy, rookie," Reid chided. Reid was almost as old as the town, but a well respected law enforcement officer. Reid rolled down the window to talk to the people standing outside the salvage yard by a car. It was a man and a woman, and they looked like they were in the middle of a heated argument.

"Hey! What's going on here?" Reid shouted. When the couple continued to argue, Reid motioned with his hand. Mike flipped the siren on for a moment until the couple turned to look at them. "I said, what are you people doing here?"

"My patient is in there!" The woman shouted, charging toward their cruiser. Mike went for his gun, but Reid shook his head. She sure looked like a threat to Mike. "They're holding him at gunpoint!"

"Where?" Reid asked, his voice as calm and cool as if he just asked directions to the coffee shop. Mike admired that about his mentor. He tended to be a bit hot-tempered.

"Just follow the road, they're on it." The woman pointed into the entrance to the salvage yard. Mike waited for the look from Reid before letting his foot off the brake. "You should shoot first!" she shouted as they passed.

"We'll have to check them out once we know what's happening inside. I'll call for backup." Reid got on the radio and requested a second unit as Mike drove slowly through the rusting cars. Reid used the bright spotlight to search until the flashing lights of the ambulance appeared around the next turn. The older officer was out of the car in an instant, leaving Mike to run to catch up after slamming the cruiser into park.

Paramedics were loading a man into the ambulance as a voice shouted, "Wait! Him, too!" Mike spun toward the new voice as he reached for his pistol, until he recognized Old Man Singer. Singer looked really upset. When Mike looked down, he saw why. There was another man in the dirt at Singer's feet, out cold from the looks of it. Mike rushed forward, eyes scanning the area for any signs of danger. When he came upon them, he noticed several nasty gashes in the man's shoulder, which was soaked with blood.

Using his left hand, Mike reached down to gently feel the man's chest. The victim was still breathing. His other hand held his gun as he swept the area for any sign of what caused this. "What happened, Singer?" he demanded as one of the paramedics ran back.

"Mountain lion," Old Man Singer said. "Came outta nowhere."

Mountain lion? Here? "You serious? I don't remember the last time I heard of a mountain lion in these parts." Mike continued his sweep of the immediate area.

"Me, either," Reid said, joining him. "Must have been rabid, to come all the way in here and attack like that. Who are those guys, Bobby?"

Singer looked worried, anxious, and a hundred other things Mike would never have attributed to the Old Man.

"My, uh, nephews. Here visiting." Singer took his hat off, wrung it in his hands as the paramedics loaded the second man on a stretcher.

"Where is it, Bobby?" Reid tapped Singer on the arm. "Is it still out there?"

"Nah. We managed to kill it." He waved at a lump of blankets off to the side.

Reid motioned and Mike followed. He covered his partner as Reid checked under the blankets. "Definitely rabid," Reid said as he straightened up. "You planning to burn it, Singer?"

"Uh, yeah," Bobby nodded, eyes straying to the ambulance. "I, uh…"

"Tell you what," Reid walked back, rested a hand on Old Man Singer's shoulder, "how about if I help you burn it and then we give you a ride up to the hospital? My rookie partner here can go find out what's up with the woman out front."

Singer rolled his eyes. "Is that bitch still out there? I thought she woulda high-tailed it by now."

"Why is that, Bobby?" Reid asked. Mike recognized that tone, it was the voice his partner used during difficult interviews.

"The lion, it came after her. We heard her screaming from inside the house and came barreling out. Sam managed to hold it off with a crowbar long enough for me and Dean to get something to shoot it with." Singer's hat was really getting a workout tonight. Mike wondered if it would still fit on the man's head.

"And that's how those boys got hurt? Getting that woman to safety and tackling a rabid mountain lion?" Reid asked as Singer nodded, eyes following the path of the ambulance away from his house.

"Mike, go find out why that woman is still here. Any sane person would have at least gone for help." Reid's head jerked toward the entrance.

"Right." Mike holstered his gun, walking swiftly back toward the bickering couple. That was an interesting interview. He had no idea you were supposed to burn the corpse of rabid animals. He would need to remember that. As he approached the couple, whose shouts were louder now, if that were possible, Mike realized he should have asked where the weapons they used on the mountain lion came from. He made a mental note to do that after talking to the couple.

"Excuse me," he called out, but the argument ensued. "Excuse me!" There was still no reaction to his presence. He thought about firing his gun to get their attention, but that kind of showboating was only allowed in Hollywood movies. Mike doubted he could get away with it even as a rookie but at the moment it was really, really tempting. He stepped between them, holding up his hands. "Shut it!"

Now they noticed him. He looked from the man to the woman. "What is going on here?"

"Did you arrest him?" the woman demanded, stepping forward.

"Singer? No." Mike shook his head. "Why would I?"

"Not him!" she hissed, leaning into his face. Was that alcohol he smelled? "Mahogoff! He's a menace! He made that…that…that thing attack me!"

Mike looked her over. Not a scratch. "It attacked you, too?"

"Of course it did," she snapped. "He told it to!"

"He told it to." Mike rested a hand on his gun. He felt a little safer this way. His other hand fingered his cuffs. They were new and he had not broken them in yet. Tonight might be the night. "So this Mahogoff character told a mountain lion to attack you?"

"It wasn't a mountain lion!" she screamed, turning her face to the sky. "It was something else!" Her voice was lost in the darkness of the night sky. Mike was simply grateful the scream had not been directed into his ears. That woman had a set of lungs on her.

"Your name?" he asked, suddenly realizing he forgot that basic little detail.

"Doctor Elizabeth Jeffries," she said, her eyes dropping to look at him. Even though he was a good foot taller, Mike had the impression she was looking down at him.

"You?" he asked the man, who had not spoken.

"John Morgan."

"You with her?" Mike asked.

Morgan's arms crossed over his chest. "No."

"Asshole," she snarled.

"Ma'am, how did you get here? And what were you doing here?" Mike stepped closer to her, trying to get within reach.

Her hands fluttered up to rest on her hips as she glared at him. "I am a world renowned neurologist. My patient has been staying in this…this…" she gestured at the salvage yard, "place, which is entirely unfit. I intend to see him brought back to my hospital for his own safety."

Mike glared at her. "So what were you doing here?"

Elizabeth Jeffries, if that was indeed her name, held up a small digital camera. "Getting proof of these horrendous conditions."

Mike's jaw clenched. Old Man Singer might be a little odd, but he was a good man. "Ma'am? Have you been drinking this evening?"

He heard the man, Morgan, bark out a laugh, but Mike was not concerned with him. Maybe he should be? "Sir, what are you doing here?"

The man looked more than a little sheepish. "I drove. But I didn't go in there. I don't trespass."

"Why did you drive?" he asked.

An odd smile crossed Morgan's face. "I was afraid to let her drive herself, in that condition."

"I see." Mike nodded.

"What condition? You bastard!" Jeffries charged toward Morgan, but Mike caught her around the waist.

As she screamed profanities, Mike told the man to leave, but not to leave town. Morgan readily agreed, shouting the name of his hotel over Jeffries' screeching. Mike tried to drag her inside the salvage yard, to the car, but he was afraid of hurting her with the way she was thrashing around.

To his immense relief, Mike saw flashing lights approaching. He waited for their backup to stop. "Hey, guys! Take her in. Drunk tank."

"Drunk tank!" She squealed. "I am not drunk!"

He leaned down to tell his fellow officer, "She claims someone was able to control a rabid mountain lion, told it to attack her."

The other officer laughed. "Well, let's hope she's drunk. Don't worry, Mike," the officer jumped out to open the back door, "we'll take her from here."

"Thanks, guys!" Mike watched them pull away. He walked back toward his partner and the car, but both met him halfway in. Mike hopped into the passenger seat.

"What happened?" Reid asked as they pulled out onto the road.

"Something's wrong with that woman. She claimed some Mahogoff guy was controlling the rabid mountain lion." Mike chuckled.

"And?" Reid pressed.

"And that was when Joe and Gunth pulled up. They're taking her in. Drunk tank. Let her sleep it off." Mike shrugged. "Get rid of that thing?"

"Yep," Reid nodded, his eyes never leaving the road. "Won't bother anyone else."

"I didn't know you were supposed to burn the carcass of a rabid animal," Mike said. "Good to know."

"Yep."

Mike turned back to look at Old Man Singer. "Mister Singer? Your nephews? They named Mahogoff?"

"Nope," Bobby shook his head. Mike noticed the trademark ballcap did not fit nearly as well as it usually did. "Cooper."

"We might need to call Joe," Mike suggested. "He said if we were lucky that woman was just drunk."

Reid chuckled. "Joe and Gunth can handle it. They know what they're doing." He felt a tap on his thigh. "You can check in on them later, after we make sure Bobby's nephews are okay."

"Mister Singer?" Mike turned around again. "Mind if I ask where you and your nephew found something to shoot that animal with?"

"Bobby hunts," Reid said before Old Man Singer had a chance to answer. "Has guns all over the place. Good thing, too."

Mike nodded in agreement, facing front. "Yes, sir. Real good thing." Those guys were close to his age and did not look in good shape. He did not blame Singer for looking a bit green. One day his sister might have kids, and then he'd understand what it meant to have nieces or nephews to worry about. Couldn't be easy.


	21. Chapter 21

As usual, I am just blown away by the response to this story. Thanks to everyone following and especially to _**hotshow**_. Without her input and enthusiasm, Lil' Sammy never would have come to be. Thanks again! (I figure one more chapter will wrap things up. It's been fun!!)

**Chapter 21**

Mike met Joe and Gunth just outside the ER. Reid stayed inside with Singer. He did not know what good friends the two men were before tonight. Reid was insisting on staying with Singer past their shift, to the point of telling Mike to just take the cruiser and go home. That was not happening.

Joe handed over a mug shot of Elizabeth Jeffries. "Thanks," Mike said, stuffing it in his shirt pocket, "this will come in handy when those guys wake up. She much trouble?"

Joe laughed. "She was, but not anymore." Gunth was grinning more now than he did during Bob's bachelor party.

"What happened?" Mike leaned in the car window, resting against the car.

"We got to wondering if that woman was mentally stable," Joe said, eyes sparkling. "Got the resident psychiatrist here to come see her."

Gunth laughed from the passenger seat. "Man, it was great! She saw the doctor and started screaming, calling him a quack. Demanded we call her hospital."

"So I did," Joe added with a nod to Gunth. "Didn't I? Her hospital said their doctor Jeffries was taking some personal time and could not possibly be in our drunk tank."

"And?" Mike asked, when both Joe and Gunth fell into silent grins.

"And the doc admitted her. She's a psych patient now. We don't have to deal with her."

Mike saw Joe in a new light. The man was a veritable genius. "You're good," he said, shaking a finger at Joe. "Really good."

Joe reached through the open window to slap Mike's hand. "Aren't you supposed to be off duty now?"

"Yeah, but Reid wants to stay. Guess he and Old Man Singer are friends," Mike replied with a shrug.

"Really?" Joe and Gunth exchange a look of surprise. "You staying, too? Or you want us to give you a lift? I'm sure Reid wouldn't mind."

"Nah," Mike shook his head, "I'll wait. I'm kinda curious to hear the story those guys have anyway. Thanks again for the pic."

"Okay, Mikie. Call if you change your mind!" Joe's arm waved out the window as they drove off. Mike headed back inside.

Reid was still in the same seat, but Old Man Singer was nowhere in sight. Mike took his place from earlier, next to Reid. "What happened to the old man?"

Reid chuckled. "That old man would probably knock you on your ass if he heard you talking like that."

"Have to catch me first," Mike replied evenly.

"Good point." Reid replied, shooting Mike a quick grin. "One of the nephews was coming out from the anesthesia, had the staff worried for some reason. They asked Bobby to come back there." Reid studied him for a moment. "Don't have any kids, do you, rookie?"

Mike shook his head.

"You work a lot of hours, Mike. Any girlfriends?"

Mike stared at his partner for a moment. They had been working together for six months, and this was the most personal question Reid had ever asked him. "Uh, no. Not really."

Reid's brows drew together. "You don't have to answer this one, but I'd appreciate it. Just so we understand each other. Do you like girls?"

Mike's mouth flopped open. "What?"

Reid shrugged. "Not judging you. Just want to understand you better, rookie."

Mike shook off his shock. "When I date, she's always female. Feel better?"

Reid sighed, looking out the glass doors. "That's not why I asked, Mike."

"Then why did you ask?" Mike stared at his partner. Reid was one of the best, Mike had learned volumes in the past six months, but the man had the ability to throw verbal curve balls unlike anyone he had ever met.

Reid met his eyes. "Just to understand you better. Like I said."

Mike looked away first. Reid's gaze was just that intense. It made him feel like the man could stare right into his soul. "Think those guys will be up to answering any questions tonight?" he asked in what he hoped was a casual voice.

Out of the corner of his eye, Mike saw Reid looking out the glass windows again. "Maybe. Depends on how bad that thing got them."

The white swinging doors that led to the ER swung open and Singer stepped through. He motioned to them.

"Looks like you're going to find out," Reid said as he followed Singer. Mike stayed behind his partner, following only a step or two behind. Probably the reason he ran smack into Reid only a moment later. Reid turned to shoot him a strong look before shaking off the jolt Mike gave him. Mike grinned sheepishly, taking a step back.

One of Singer's nephews was strapped down to a hospital bed. Usually people restrained like that were violent. This guy just looked around, clearly confused.

"Bobby? What are you doing here? And where's Dean?" The guy sounded worried, but calm and rational. Perfectly normal, considering the circumstances.

"Sam? How you feeling?" Singer asked softly, approaching the bed. Mike did not know the old man's voice could sound so gentle. "How's the head?"

The nephew, Sam, frowned at him. "Uh, okay. Was I hit in the head? Feels like something's wrong with my side." Sam tried to turn in the bed, but the restraint held him firmly in place. "What the hell is this, Bobby?" His voice went from confused to angry and demanding in two-point-nothing flat. Maybe those restraints were justified.

"Need anything, Sam?" Singer pulled something out from under his jacket. It took Mike a moment to recognize it. It was a Batman doll. What this a joke?

Sam stared at Singer, his brow furrowing. "Bobby, did Dean put you up to this?"

"Up to…" Singer dropped the doll on one of those little hospital roller tables. "Uh, no. Sam, what's the last thing you remember?"

Sam groaned, falling back under the restraints. "Dean and I had an argument. I went for a walk, to cool off." Sam frowned. "Not too sure after that."

Mike pulled the picture of Jeffries out of his shirt pocket. "Mister Singer?" he asked softly. Singer turned, studied the picture for a moment, nodded. Mike stepped forward. "Mister Cooper, do you recognize this woman?"

Still shooting suspicious looks at Bobby, Sam tore his eyes away to look at the mug shot in Mike's hand. The young man shook his head slowly. "Nope. Sorry, officer. I've never seen her before."

"That's what I figured. Thank you, Mister Cooper." Mike stuffed the picture back in his pocket.

"So where is Dean?" Sam asked again. "And why the hell am I trussed up here?"

"Hang on, Sam. I'll take care of that." Bobby rushed out, leaving him and Reid alone with Sam.

Sam looked uncomfortable and Mike could not blame him. Not many people would look comfortable strapped down to a hospital bed.

Mike cleared this throat, making an attempt to break the uncomfortable silence. "Pretty brave."

Sam's eyes locked on him. Somehow Sam reminded him of Reid, same intense gaze. "Excuse me?"

"Going after that rabid mountain lion," Reid said. "I understand it got you pretty good on your side."

Sam frowned, looking down. "That's what hurts," he mumbled. Then louder, "mountain lion, huh? Did we get it?"

"Yes," Reid answered. "I helped Bobby burn it while you and your brother got the leisurely ambulance ride."

Sam's eyes snapped up at that. "Dean's hurt? Where is he?"

"Sam?" Doc Wayne came in, followed closely by Bobby. "How are you?"

Sam frowned at the doctor. "Where is my brother?" he demanded.

"Oh," Doc Wayne reached for the Batman doll, but Bobby caught his arm. "Uh, Sam, can you tell me how old you are?"

"If I do, will you tell me where my brother is?" Sam snapped back, clearly running low on patience. Doc Wayne nodded. "Fine," Sam heaved a great sigh, as though the information were extremely burdensome. "Twenty-three. Now, where's my brother?"

Doc Wayne smiled. "In surgery. His shoulder was pretty torn up. Much worse than your side there."

"Are you someone who can take these restraints off? I'm starting to feel like you're going to ship me off somewhere." Sam struggled under the heavy straps.

"Sure, sure. Hold on a minute, Sam." Doc Wayne rushed to remove the restraints, barking orders at a nurse who chose that moment to pop her head in to check on the patient. The nurse left a few minutes later, carrying the restraints out.

"Thanks, doc," Sam sat up.

"Whoa, whoa," Doc Wayne forced Sam back down. "You'll pull out all our good work. Just lay back."

"When will Dean be out of surgery?" That Sam sure had a one track mind.

"I'll check if you promise me you won't try to get up or do anything stupid," Doc Wayne said, hovering over the bed.

Sam grimaced. "Dean's the one who pulls stupid stunts, not me. Right, Bobby?"

Bobby let out a grim chuckle. "Got me there, Sam."

Doc Wayne rushed out, returning shortly. "Dean is in post-op. The surgery went very well."

"I want to see him," Sam insisted.

"No," Doc Wayne replied. "And if you try, I'll have you back in those restraints, Sam." Doc frowned at the young man. "I think you were easier to deal with before."

"Before what? Before I woke up?" Sam glared back.

"Nevermind. We'll be admitting both of you." Doc Wayne held up a hand as Sam's mouth opened. "I've already made arrangements to put you both in the same room." Sam's mouth snapped shut. "They'll be moving you in just a moment. Dean's injuries were a little more serious, so it may be an hour or so before he joins you."

Sam shifted in the bed. "More than his shoulder?"

Doc Wayne nodded. "He took a pretty hard blow to the head. It's probably just a concussion, but we're doing a CT scan to be safe."

Sam nodded. His gaze shifted back to Singer. "Sticking around for a while, Bobby?"

"You bet."

Reid cleared his throat. "Bobby, we'll be heading out now. If you need anything, give me a call."

Bobby held out a hand. "Thanks, Reid. I will."

----------------------

Sam waited for the local cops to leave before turning back to Bobby. He might have woken up strapped down to a hospital bed, but his eyes were still good enough to read the city and state embroidered on their uniforms. "What are we doing here, Bobby? Last I checked, Dean and I were a couple of states away."

Sam watched Bobby's face shift into indecision, something he rarely saw on the man's face. "Maybe we should wait for Dean."

"Bobby." Sam struggled to sit up, knowing his height made him appear imposing. Something Dean could do with a look. "What's going on? And what is all this about a mountain lion?"

Bobby leaned over to whisper, "Wasn't a mountain lion."

"I guessed that much," he hissed.

A team of nurses and orderlies appeared to move him to a regular room. This conversation would have to wait.

-------------------

They pumped some of those really good hospital drugs into him before moving him to a room. By the time he and Bobby were alone again, Sam only cared about going to sleep. When he woke up, the room was flooded with sunlight and there was a second bed to his left.

"Hey," he called out softly, hoping it was his brother. "Dean?" He was rewarded with a groan. "Dean, wake up."

"Now I'm not allowed to sleep in the hospital?" Dean's hoarse voice came from the other bed.

"Hey, man. You all right?" Sam asked, rolling on his good side, trying to get a good look at his brother.

"If I were all right, would I be here?" Dean demanded. Sam grinned, it sounded like Dean was just fine. "How are you? Bobby remember to bring up Batman?"

"So you did put him up to it, huh?" Sam shook his head. "Not one of your better jokes, Dean."

Dean's head snapped to the side, something Sam was pretty sure his brother should not be doing with a concussion. "What did you say?"

"I said the Batman joke was weak. I mean, the itching powder was better than that." Sam held up a hand. "Not that I'm volunteering for it again."

Dean struggled to sit up, pushing himself up with his good arm. He stared at Sam a moment before asking the very strange question, "Sam, how old am I?"

"What? Dean, what is…"

"Sam! Answer the question!" Dean barked, cutting him off. "How old am I?"

"Ah, twenty-eight." Dean was still staring at him. "Shit, did I miss your birthday again? What month is it?"

Dean chuckled, lying down. "Good to have you back, Sammy."

"Uh, did I go somewhere?"


	22. Chapter 22

Okay, here it is: ta-da-da-da – the last chapter! Whew!! I worked on it most of the weekend, it went through about three rewrites and that was before _**hotshow**_ read it. So, once again, BIG THANKS to _**hotshow**_. Without her, there could not have been a Lil' Sammy. I've never had a fic followed by so many people. The irony here is that I started writing this as a kind of celebration of the fact that I saw 50 people had me on author alert. I thought that was really cool and asked for suggestions on what I could write to celebrate it. _**Hotshow**_ asked for a Limp!Sam fic and this is our result. (I'm still working on the other requests.) Now that 50 have been joined by about 30 others – my thanks to all of you!! I hope this chapter meets with expectations. Thanks again!!

**Chapter 22**

"Sam! Sammy, wake up!"

The words bounced around the salvage yard as Lion-o and Catwoman tried to team up on Dean. Sam tried to help his brother, but his feet were stuck in the ground. Literally. He couldn't move. He looked around for some kind of weapon. There was a crowbar, but it was several feet away. Sam leaned over, reaching for it. His feet would not budge and the crowbar was barely out of reach. If he could stretch just a little further…

"Sammy!"

Sam blinked his eyes, staring straight up into his brother's worried face. "Dean? You okay?"

Dean glared at him for a moment. "You were dreaming." Sam noticed the pressure on his shoulder when it eased, as Dean released him. "Nightmare?"

Sam sat up, feeling the pull of the staples in his side. He pressed the button that moved the head of his bed up so he could sit comfortably. "Kind of. Mostly it was just weird."

"I was afraid you'd undo some of the doctor's work, and then Doc Wayne would be all over my case." Dean threw him a smile as his brother climbed back into the other bed.

"What is up with that guy?" Sam asked. "He's pretty pushy."

"Hey, the doc is a good guy!" Dean snapped. "He's been really looking out for you."

"Us," Sam corrected.

"What?" Dean settled back into bed, looking confused.

"You said the doctor has really been looking out for me, but you meant us," Sam explained. "I mean," he continued at the odd look on Dean's face, "we're both in the hospital."

"Sam? Remember when you asked me what month it was?" Dean said softly, giving him this look that made Sam's throat dry. Sam nodded. "It's next month."

Sam's eyebrows shot up. "What do you mean, it's next month?"

Dean cleared his throat. "Bobby told me that you said you remembered us arguing and then you went for a walk. That right? That the last thing you remember before waking up in the hospital?"

Sam nodded, wondering where the hell Dean was headed with all this.

Dean stared at him for a long moment before speaking again. "You've had amnesia."

"What?" Sam was floored, simply put. "What the hell are you talking about?"

Dean shrugged, but it must have hurt his shoulder because he grabbed his left arm and pressed it against his side. "Yeah, weirdo amnesia. I gotta tell ya Sam," Dean shook his head, "for a guy who wants normal, you can be a real freak."

"Dean." Sam took a deep breath, trying to calm himself. "What do you mean by weirdo amnesia?"

Dean's eyes closed. "Nothin'. Don't worry about it."

"Dean!" Sam pushed himself upright. They were being released today. Bobby was bringing their clothes and then they could leave. It had been that pushy doctor's idea to have Bobby take their clothes away in the first place, just one of the things Sam found annoying about his doctor. That and the constant questions, which were starting to make a little more sense now.

Dean's eyes were still closed, one of his brother's tactics to avoid answering questions. Sam stood, bare feet on cold tile. He felt the staples pulling his skin, keeping the wounds closed, but it did not hurt. It was a strange feeling. Sam was used to stitches, usually by his brother or father's hand. Sam walked around Dean's bed, avoiding being on the same side as his brother's bad shoulder. He sat on the edge, staring down at his stubborn brother.

"Dean?"

Dean groaned. "Come on, Sammy. For once, can you just drop it?"

"I don't think so, Dean," Sam watched as his brother's eyes opened, heavily guarded. He knew that look a little too well. Dean was trying to protect him from something again. It pained him to think what his brother must have gone through the past couple of weeks. "How bad was it?"

"Sam…"

"Dean, I want to know. I need to know." Sam glared. "It couldn't have been easy on you. Did I forget everything? Dad, hunting, you?" He knew that would tear Dean up the most, being forgotten. Sam hoped 'weirdo' amnesia meant he did remember some things.

A thin smile flickered across Dean's face. "You sure didn't forget me or Dad." Then it was gone, replaced by a deep sigh. "You kept wanting to see Dad."

He did? "Really? So my weirdo amnesia, it made me forget the past year?" Sam studied his brother's face, hoping to see more than Dean would tell him.

Dean shifted uneasily in the bed. "We could talk about this later."

Sam shook his head. "Nope. Not going to work, Dean. You know I'll just keep asking until you tell me."

Dean's eyes rolled. "Persistent bastard."

Sam smiled. That usually meant he won. "So, how much did I forget? More than a year?"

"Uh, yeah." Dean's eyes darted to the door. "More than a year."

"Here we go," Bobby burst through the door. The relief on Dean's face flooded Sam with irritation. A paper sack hit each of them square in the chest.

"Thanks, Bobby," Dean said cheerfully, one leg knocking Sam off the bed. With a disdainful look, Sam took his bag and moved to the far side of the room to change. Bobby disappeared into the hall while they dressed.

Sam finished dressing, anxious to get away from these stark white walls. He looked over to check Dean's progress and saw his brother fumbling with the sling. As Sam approached, he saw that Dean was trying to wrap some black cloth around the strap one-handed.

"Here," Sam took over, quickly slipping the black fabric into place and settling the strap on his brother's shoulder. "Better?"

Dean had an odd look on his face. "Yeah. Thanks."

"What?" What was that look for?

Dean looked away. "Bobby? We're ready."

"Paperwork?" Bobby asked, stepping into the room.

"Done," Dean said with a wave of his hand. "Just need that cute nurse with the wheelchair."

------------------------

Sam felt sweat trickle down his spine as he held the ancient Chevy hood in place while Dean reattached it. "Why are we doing this again?"

"It's fun, Sammy," Dean replied, sniggering. Sam rolled his eyes, feeling the strain in his side. The staples had been taken out a week ago, but the muscles there were still healing. "Besides, Doc said it's probably good therapy. Damn it!" Sam heard the clatter of metal on metal.

Sam waited, a little impatiently, for Dean to crawl out so he could lower the hood. Dean stood there fuming while Sam retrieved the ratchet. Again.

"You know," Sam said conversationally as he handed over the ratchet, "if it didn't piss you off so bad, I'd swear you were dropping it on purpose."

Dean snorted, snatching the tool away. "Come on. We don't have all day." He motioned to the hood.

"Fine," Sam lifted it again, "but after this we're taking a break." It wasn't that Sam really minded helping Dean work on this stupid car, but he could not understand why Dean seemed so driven. When it was the Impala, that he understood. Sam suspected Dean would be only half a person without that car. He knew if it weren't for Dean's shoulder, his brother would be working on this one alone, too.

"So," Dean's voice echoed dully from under the massive hood, "you ready to tell me about those weird dreams yet?"

Sam chewed his lower lip, considering. "I don't know. You ready to tell me what you mean by weirdo amnesia?"

Dean froze for a moment, casting Sam a long look over his shoulder. Their eyes met, locked in a battle of wills. "You first."

"You mean you're really going to tell me?" Sam felt the shake in his muscles as the hood became heavier. "You better hurry up in there."

"One more bolt," Dean replied. Sam waited, reminding himself that his brother really did not need a fifty, or was it sixty?, year old hood falling on that shoulder. "Okay," Dean climbed out, allowing Sam to close the hood. "Break, huh?"

"Yeah," Sam followed big brother toward the house. Dean motioned to the chairs just outside the front door before heading inside. Sam collapsed in one, his arms and torso screaming with relief. It wasn't that the work Dean had him doing was particularly difficult, there was just so much of it. It took a toll after a while. It was a really good thing Dean had a screwed up shoulder or his brother would be on his own.

His eyes traveled over the car. It was looking fairly decent now that it was covered in gray primer. There was no rust, Dean made sure of that. Any rust had been either been sanded away or cut out and new metal welded in place, from the freaking frame and up. Most of that kind of work done by him, of course, the guy who could use both hands. While he did that, under Dean's scrutinizing supervision, his brother worked on the motor and transmission and other mechanical stuff that could be done with one hand. Half the time Sam was still tempted to leave it all to Dean, but he had the nagging feeling that the sling would disappear if he was not out there to keep an eye on it.

Now that they were putting it all back together, it was starting to look like a real car. Every muscle in his body just ached. Dean was a freaking slave driver.

"Here." Two brown bottles dangled in front of his face. Sam took one, popping the top off with ease. Sam watched Dean remove his bottle cap with his left hand.

"That hand's bothering you, huh?" Sam asked, pretending not to be concerned.

"So," Dean sank into the next chair, ignoring his question, "what's with the dreams?"

Sam rolled his eyes. Even when it wasn't all about him, it was all about him. "They're just weird, Dean. I don't think it means anything."

"Good," Dean said with a nod. "Then it won't matter if you tell me."

Sam sighed. "You're just going to make fun of me."

Dean shook his head. "Only if it's really, really good."

"Jerk."

"Bitch."

"Fine," Sam ran a hand over his head. "I've been dreaming about Batman, Catwoman, The Joker and The Thundercats. Happy now?"

Dean stared at him, not laughing. "What are they doing? In your dream?"

Sam stared back, really not understanding why Dean was so interested in his bizarre dreams. Probably to tease him about it later. "Well, the Joker keeps jumping out of nowhere to scare me." A burst of laughter came from Dean then, so Sam paused. His brother composed himself, motioned for Sam to continue. Sam steeled himself for the ribbing that would undoubtedly come. "Catwoman and the leader of the Thundercats stalk Batman. They get him cornered, start ripping into him. I keep trying to help, but I'm stuck in the ground."

"You find the crowbar in your dream?" Dean asked softly.

"Yeah, but I can't quite…" Sam's head snapped to the side, staring at his brother. "How could you possibly know that?"

"Because," Dean's eyes drifted away, "that's what you used on Lion-o."

His brother's voice was so soft, Sam was not sure he heard that right. "Excuse me? And how did you know Lion-o's name, anyway?"

Dean cleared his throat, studying the ground. Sam waited, wondering if this was the moment of truth. "Because we, uh, watched a lot of cartoons."

"As kids?" Sam asked, trying to figure out where Dean was going with this. Dean shook his head. "Weirdo amnesia?" He waited for Dean to give a quick nod. "Why would weirdo amnesia have us watching cartoons? How much more than a year did I forget? I mean, the last time I was really excited about seeing Dad I was probably a kid."

"Yeah," Dean sighed, taking a long pull on his beer.

Sam waited, but his brother did not offer anything else. "I…I…" Sam struggled to put the thought together. "I thought I was a kid?"

Dean shrugged, eyes darting away quickly, but not before Sam spotted the truth. His weirdo amnesia made him think he was a kid. "How…" Sam groped for the right way to ask. "How old was I?"

"Biggest damn five year old I ever saw." The door banged shut behind Bobby. The older man pulled up the third chair to sit facing them. He held some papers in his hand. "Hope you don't mind, Dean, but I could hear you two talking from inside the house." He held out the papers to Sam.

"Not like I could stop you," Dean mumbled, rolling his eyes.

Sam took the papers from Bobby. He flipped through them. They were fingerpaintings. One looked familiar. It was of a really tall Robin. Sam stared at it. As the realization hit him, he flipped through the other pages swiftly. "I did these?" He heard the quake in his own voice.

"Yep." Bobby grinned at him. "Hey, at least it got you away from that damned cartoon channel. I didn't even know I got cartoons. Uh, I expect those back." Bobby held a hand out.

Sam reluctantly handed the pages over. What he really wanted to do was borrow Dean's lighter. "Why?"

One corner of Bobby's mouth twitched. "Because you gave them to me. You should see the ones you gave to Dean."

Sam turned to face his brother. "Dean?"

"What?" Dean leaned back, refusing to make eye contact. Sam glared. Finally Dean groaned. "Fine. Wait here." He went into the house.

"Sam," Bobby whispered, "when Dean asks if you want to go out tonight, say yes."

Startled, Sam looked deep into Bobby's eyes. "Why?"

"Because he's been planning it all week," Bobby hissed. "And I'll never hear the end of it from George and Mike if he cancels."

"George and Mike?" Sam scratched his head. "Dean's doctor and the cop?"

Bobby nodded and his mouth opened but Dean came barreling out the door. Bobby studied his fingerpaintings as Dean eyed them both suspiciously. "Did I miss something?"

Sam held out his hand for the papers Dean had. "No. Come on, let's get this over with." Sam took the papers from Dean. These were worse. Several were of a house with a smiley sun overhead, one or two were of the salvage yard and one had to be of Batman. This Batman had big green eyes and Sam knew it was really Dean.

"Here." Dean held out his lighter. "I know you want to."

Sam grinned, taking the lighter. One by one he burned each page, except for Batman. He could not quite bring himself to torch that one. He handed it and the lighter back. "Thanks, Dean."

"Uh, what about this one, Sam?" Dean waved Batman around.

Sam cleared his throat. "That's yours. You can burn it if you want."

"Here, Bobby," Dean handed the lone page out to their friend, "before Sammy changes his mind."

Bobby snagged the paper and went back into the house.

"He's going to hide them, isn't he?" Sam asked, watching the broad back disappear behind the door.

"Probably." Dean agreed. "So, got any plans for tonight?"

"Like what?" Sam waited for it.

"Oh, I dunno. Just thought we could use a break. Go out, eat, a few beers, maybe play a little pool." Dean flashed his award winning grin. "George even said I could take the night off from the sling."

"So George is coming?" Sam pretended to be curious.

"And Mike. But we need a fourth for pool." Dean shrugged, leaning back casually in his chair. "You know, if you want to."

Sam grinned, looking over the car remains surrounding them. "You'll cancel if I say no, won't you?"

Dean scoffed. "Why would you think that?"

Sam rolled his head to the side, to look at his brother. "Dean?"

"Yeah, you know I will," Dean looked away, draining his beer. "Want another?"

Sam grinned. "Nah, I'm good." He watched his big brother head into the house, warmth spreading through him that had nothing to do with the temperature.

The rumble of a car caught his attention. Someone must be driving in, probably one of Bobby's customers. Sam was becoming a fair fill-in for the old-timer. He stood, ready to receive them, beer stuck hastily out of sight.

A shiny black car pulled up bearing in-state plates. Sam wondered what anyone driving such a new vehicle would need from a salvage yard, but there was no telling about hobbies. He moved to approach the car, but a second car pulled in behind it. It was a police car. Reid and Mike stepped out.

"Hey guys," Sam waved. "What's going on?"

Reid and Mike exchanged a look before Mike came over to stand by Sam. "You're not gonna believe this," he said under his breath.

Reid went to the door, banged on it. "Dean! Bobby! Outside!"

All four doors of the black car opened. "And I will be suing for false arrest, false imprisonment," a woman's voice screeched from inside the car, "and anything else my attorney can think up!"

Something about that voice sent cold shivers shooting down his spine. When the woman stepped out of the car, Sam saw she was tall for a woman, gray streaked hair bound up in a tight knot on top of her head and wearing expensive clothes. He hated her the instant he set eyes on her, which was very unusual for Sam. Before he had time to think about that, she pointed a bright red fingernail in his direction. "There he is!"

The door banged open, Dean and Bobby practically falling over each other to get outside.

"Reid?" Bobby's voice thundered through the yard. "Did I forget to press those trespassing charges?"

Dean rushed toward him, but stopped when Mike held up a hand. Sam had the impression that Reid and Mike were anticipating something and did not want Dean to interfere. Dean looked downright pissed.

"Easy, Dean," Bobby's voice was soft enough this time Sam had to strain to hear it.

------------------

Easy? Bobby wanted him to take it easy? Dean threw a vicious look over his shoulder. His anger dissipated somewhat when Reid gave him a quick wink. Something was up. Reid must have a plan. Dean hoped it was a good one, otherwise he was going to really screw up Bobby's nice little set-up here.

That Jeffries bitch stared at Sam like he was the grand prize in some drawing. Dean ground his teeth, trying like hell not to charge forward and knock her into next week. He hated hitting women but this bitch was not a woman, she was a demon incarnate.

"You can take that one into protective custody," the bitch pointed out Sam, "and just arrest that one," she pointed at him. Dean started to remove his sling, but Reid caught him by his good arm.

"Now Miss Jeffries," Reid began, but she cut him off.

"Doctor Jeffries," she interrupted haughtily.

Dean studied Reid as he remained composed. If he lived long enough to reach Reid's age, Dean wondered if he would ever learn that kind of self-control. He decided it didn't matter, because there was no way he would live long enough to learn that.

"Doctor Jeffries," Reid tried again, "I just don't see why you seem to think Sam here is in any danger."

"I would like to know that as well," a man in a dark suit agreed, turning dark, squinty eyes on Jeffries.

"This young man," she moved closer to Sam, "should not be living in such dangerous environs. And it's his fault!" Jeffries pointed out Dean.

Dean ground his teeth. He wanted to go stand between that bitch and his brother, knowing how Sammy felt about her. However, as he watched, Dean could tell Sam was not nearly as bothered by that woman as he was. Then Dean felt like slamming his head against a wall. How thick could he be? There was no way Jeffries could take Sam now, his brother didn't have that weirdo amnesia any more. He allowed himself to relax a little.

"Young man," the squinty eyed man motioned to Sam, "your name?"

"Sammy Mahogoff," Jeffries said quickly.

Dean recognized the look on Sam's face. "You don't get to call me that," Sam said firmly, causing Jeffries to stare at him. "It's Sam. Sam Cooper." Dean almost felt like laughing at the confusion on Jeffries' face.

"Now, Sammy," she said, smiling at Sam, "you probably don't understand what's happening here. And that's okay. We don't want to scare you," Jeffries moved slowly toward Sam, "we're here to help you."

Sam's head tilted to one side. "Lady, you do realize I'm twenty-three, right? I don't even ask for permission to take the car anymore."

She gave his brother that fake smile that made Dean's stomach turn. "Now Sammy, I know Dean told you to say that. It's all right."

"And I told you," Sam took a few steps so he could tower over Jeffries, "you don't get to call me that." The way his baby brother glared down at that bitch made Dean just, well, proud.

The man with squinty eyes spoke. "My name is Robert Fulton, Sam. I'm a representative of Judge Parker, who will be sitting this case, if there is one. Would you mind speaking with a court-appointed psychologist for a few minutes?" Squinty-eyes motioned to the thin man who was also wearing a dark suit.

Sam regarded them very seriously. "Would someone mind telling me what this is all about?" he demanded.

Dean smiled to himself. _That's my boy!_ If they thought Sam was a push-over, well, then Jeffries didn't really brief them well, did she?

Thin man nodded at Sam. "I would be happy to, young man. Is there someplace private we can talk?"

"Kitchen," Bobby suggested. The two headed inside the house. Dean felt better having Sam away from the bitch. "Now, about those trespassing charges," Bobby rumbled, staring down Reid.

"Oh, you know what, Bobby?" Reid pulled some papers out of his shirt pocket. "I do have some paperwork for you."

Dean watched every move the bitch made, not trusting her for an instant. He knew she pretended not to see him, but that was impossible. Dean might be a lot of things, but he could never be ignored. Not even on his worst day, when he desperately wanted it, could he be ignored. He figured it had something to do with being a Winchester.

Jeffries tapped those obnoxious red nails on the trunk of the shiny black car, high heels shifting in the dirt as they waited. Dean glared. She looked everywhere but at him.

"Ease up, Dean," Bobby whispered. "Or Fulton may get the idea you know her."

Dean shook his head. There was no way he could ease up, or pretend to. That woman wanted Sam, and not in a good way. More in the 'look, the lab rat likes cheese' way.

Thin guy came out of the house, Sam trailing behind him. Sam stopped just behind Dean, to his immense relief, while thin guy kept heading toward the car.

"Doctor Jeffries, there are a few questions I'd like you to answer at my office." He turned to nod at Fulton. "I think we will be going now. It's pretty much what I suspected from the start."

"Thank you, doctor," Fulton said as Thin Guy and the driver forced Jeffries back inside the car.

Fulton turned to Bobby. "So, are these the nephews I've been hearing so much about?" Sam must have had a surprised look on his face, because Fulton said to him, "Small town. Word travels fast."

Dean glanced back to see Sam nod. When his brother thought it was safe, Sam shot him a questioning look. Dean shrugged. How he explain that one?

"And is that really my car?" Fulton headed for the classic they had been slaving away on. "Wow, it's really looking great."

"It'll look even better with a fresh coat of paint," Dean assured, catching up with the other man's strides easily.

-------------------------

"Bobby," Sam caught the other man's arm, "what's going on? Dean said working on this car was for fun."

Bobby shrugged. "I'm sure it is, for Dean. Not so much for you, huh, Sam?"

"Bobby." Sam glared. He knew Bobby understood what he was asking.

Bobby pulled him aside, out of earshot of the two cops. "We didn't know how long you two were going to be here and Dean needed some way of paying your medical bills. Happy now?"

Sam studied Bobby for a moment. The man certainly seemed serious. "How bad could it be?" he whispered. "I just had amnesia. Okay, weird, regressive amnesia, but it was just amnesia." Something flickered across Bobby's face. "Right?"

"Right." Bobby gave him a swift nod before rushing to catch up with Dean and Fulton. Sam followed at a more leisurely pace. He listened absently to the details of the car restoration so far, mulling things over. Apparently this 'weirdo amnesia' had been a bit more than just that.

Before he knew it, Fulton was shaking his hand and climbing into the squad car with Reid and Mike. Mike shouted something about seeing them later as they drove off.

"Will we?" Dean asked.

"What?" Sam was still lost in his thoughts.

"See them later? Tonight?" Dean's face was expectant.

Sam suddenly realized that Dean had probably not had a night out since his amnesia, which went a long way to explaining some of his brother's irritation. And if Dean had to deal with that Jeffries woman, Sam suppressed a shudder, his brother deserved a night out to end all nights out. "Sure," he said with a nod, "sounds like fun."

Dean's face lit up. "Then we'd better get cleaned up. We're meeting the guys at seven."

----------------------

Dean looked pretty much back to normal in a black t-shirt with a light plaid overshirt. He moved easily around the pool table, apparently relishing the fact the dreaded sling was nowhere in sight. Leaving the house without it had been a chore when they realized that Bobby did not believe them about George giving Dean the night off. It had taken several minutes of yelling followed by a call to George before Bobby let them go. What had gotten into that old man?

Sam knew Bobby had been a good friend of Dad's. Probably a really good friend considering the size of the falling out the two had. Only Dad's best friends had that kind of falling out with the stubborn old bastard. Did Bobby feel responsible for them? There was something in the way Bobby looked out for Dean that felt real and odd. Real in that Bobby truly seemed to care, and odd in that no one looked out for Dean that way. Well, no one except Sam, that is. If Dad ever really worried about Dean, their father had hidden it well. Bobby did not bother to hide it, and had shouted something about a priority list again. Dean shuddered when they were safely inside the Impala but, as usual, refused to discuss it.

Sam finally got his turn at pool. He managed to sink four balls before just missing on a pretty difficult shot. Expecting to be teased by Dean he looked at George, his pool partner, and shrugged. George grinned, sidling alongside Sam.

"Looks like your brother's in a pretty good mood tonight." George said, leaning against his cue.

"He usually is when he's kicking ass at pool." Sam felt his face twist into a grin.

"Well, it's good to see him having a good time. Brad says he's been a nervous wreck since you two arrived."

Sam watched as his brother lined up a shot that would make Paul Newman jealous. "Who's Brad?"

"Oh. Doctor Wayne."

Sam slid his eyes to rest on George's face. "Doc Wayne said Dean's been a nervous wreck? Why?"

George gave him an odd look. "Because of the strokes, I guess."

If his jaw was not attached, Sam was pretty sure it would be bouncing on the floor now. "Dean was having strokes?"

"No." George spoke slowly, as though Sam were having a hard time keeping up. "You were. He didn't tell you?"

Sam's cue hit the floor. Without thinking about what he was doing, Sam walked around the table and grabbed his brother by the shirt at the back of his neck. He dragged Dean to a secluded corner, forcing his brother to look at him.

"What's wrong, Sammy? You feeling okay?" The worried look on Dean's face was too familiar, giving Sam the impression that his brother looked like that far too often lately.

"Fine, Dean," Sam snapped, a little harsher than he intended. "Were you going to tell me?"

Dean blinked innocently at him. "I did tell you about the amnesia."

"Not that part Dean," Sam growled. "Strokes?"

Dean's face twisted into a snarl. "George," he said softly, like a swear word.

"You weren't going to tell me, were you?" Sam demanded. So it was true. Well, at least that explained why they had so many medical bills.

Dean shrugged. "Well, it's not like you remembered anyway. What does it matter? You're fine now. We'll finish with the car in a few weeks. My shoulder should be pretty close to a hundred percent by then and we'll hit the road. No big deal."

Dean tried to shove past him, but Sam stood firm. "Dean," he said with a sigh. "You shouldn't keep things like that from me."

"But it's over, Sammy. What good would it do to bring it up?" He could see that Dean honestly thought that, his brother's face was completely open right now. It was so rare to watch his brother be so honest and open.

"Because I need to know, Dean," Sam insisted softly, trying to take advantage of this rare opportunity. "It makes a difference, knowing what you've been through because of me."

"Sammy," Dean protested, "it's over. It won't happen again. I won't let it happen again."

Sam blinked a few times at that. "What's that supposed to mean? You won't let what happen again? We'll never fight again? Because I can pretty much guarantee you that's a lost cause. Or that I'll never get hurt again? Not in our line of work. You planning to quit hunting and go live in a cave?"

He could see his brother's internal struggle flash across those sunburnt features. "Come on, Sam. You know what I mean."

"No, I don't, Dean. And how did I get hurt anyway?" Funny, it never occurred to him to ask before.

Dean sighed, eyes darting to the floor. He mumbled something.

"What, Dean?"

Dean sighed again, eyes coming up to meet Sam's. That look was so submissive, it told Sam far more than words ever could. "Hit and run."

Sam ran a hand through his hair. "Dean, you can't hold yourself responsible for that."

"I shouldn't have argued with you like that," Dean's voice was nearly a whisper.

"Like what?" Sam took a step closer, forcing Dean into a corner. He was trying to elicit a nonsubmissive response. "Like we're brothers?"

Dean cocked an eyebrow at him. "You're not mad at me?"

"Mad at you?" Sam took a step back. "You should be mad at me for storming off and getting hit by a car." Dean's mouth opened and closed a few times, building a protest. "So," Sam cut in over his brother's attempts, "maybe we should just call it even?"

"Hey!" Mike shouted from the pool table. "We playing here or what?"

"Yeah," Dean nodded at him. "Even, huh?"

"Think you can do that?" Sam asked, knowing only too well how good Dean was at blaming himself for everything.

With a shrug, Dean stepped around him. "Come on. We're holding up the game."

Sam could not help the chuckle as he followed his big brother. Could anyone else, in the whole world, have a big brother like his? No matter how overbearing, annoying or obnoxious Dean could be, Sam would not trade him for anything, even if he could.

------------------------

Dean led the way back to the pool table, eyes picking out his next shot. As he rested his cue on his left hand while lining up a particularly difficult shot, the best way of handicapping himself against these amateurs, he thought about Sam. His brother wanted to call it even, huh? One pig-headed argument equaled one storming out. Okay, he guessed he could live with that. After all, this was Sam.

If the weirdo amnesia did nothing else, it certainly told Dean exactly what Sam thought of him. Batman. He laughed to himself as his shot missed, earning a worried look from Sam. Dean moved out of the way, making room for George. He stood beside Sam, bumped shoulders lightly.

"What?" Sam asked, a genuine, grown-up smile on his brother's face.

"Nothing. Just thinking about Batman and Robin." Dean felt his own grin widen.

"You know," Sam chewed his lower lip, "I'm not too sure I want to know about that one."

Dean laughed and this time Sam joined him. Finally, things were headed back to normal. Well, as normal as it got for a Winchester.


	23. Intro of Sequel

_**Hotshow**_and I are at it again!We've come up with a sequel to Lil' Sammy. No amnesia this time, but hopefully plenty of fun and drama all around. Chapter 1 posts tonight. Here's a little preview:

**Murphy's Law**

Dean strolled through the graveyard, using his flashlight to help him find the gravesite he and Sam located this afternoon. Sam mumbled behind him, carrying most of their digging equipment. Dean grinned into the darkness.

"Sam? Problem?" He squinted at the next headstone. Nope, not it either. He could have sworn it was right around here. Dean stopped to rub his eyes. It was getting harder to read the damn names. God, he hoped he didn't need glasses.

"I thought it was closer than this, Dean," Sam whined. His brother had been doing a lot of that lately. Whining. The music was too loud or too soft. The food was unhealthy or cooked wrong. The motel room was not clean enough or too bizarre. Dean had to admit their current motel was one of his all-time favorites. It actually had a Chevy theme. The Chevy bowtie was etched into the bathroom mirror and framed prints and photos of classic cars decorated the walls. The wall paper looked like stamped steel and the bedspreads were rejects from a kids' decorating department, covered with racing cars and bright red flames. Sam squirmed each time he had to pull back the bedspread.

"Gotta be right around here, Sammy." Dean squinted into the shadows. About time, there it was. He dropped down to check it closer, make sure they had the right grave. "This is it."

"About time," Sam grumbled as the bag with the shovels and weapons hit the dirt.

Dean held out a hand and waited. He heard another huff before Sam slammed a shovel into his hand. He used the shovel to push himself back into a standing position. The shovel bit into the rich graveyard soil with ease as Dean thanked his rare good luck. At this rate, they could be out of here and in bed in less than two hours. He said nothing as he dug, wondering when his brother would feel he had worked enough to pay off Sam carrying the supplies. After a good twenty minutes, Sam joined him. They dug in silence. When they hit the hard, hollow sound of a coffin beneath their feet, Dean waved Sam out of the hole.

As Dean lifted his shovel to break through the coffin, he felt a tightness through his chest. He could not catch his breath. He froze, eyes rotating to look at Sam. Sam was pulling the salt and lighter fluid out of the bag, not paying any attention to him. Dean opened his mouth to say something, but the tightening sensation squeezed so hard he felt like his chest was in a vice. Was that the sound of his ribs cracking?

Eyes riveted to Sam, silently pleading for his brother to look up, Dean struggled to simply take in air. It was like being underwater, in a vice. He suddenly had great sympathy for everyone organized crime had thrown into a river with cement overshoes. Finally he discovered the one thing he could still do. He dropped the shovel.


End file.
